Amor Veritatis
by Stanrick
Summary: One morning during breakfast in the Great Hall, things quite suddenly begin to turn into the most unexpected directions, when Harry behaves in a rather peculiar fashion - much to the bewilderment of Hermione and their fellow friends.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer**: Nothing belongs to me and I belong to nothing. The Harry Potter universe and all its characters are the rightful property of J.K. Rowling. I did buy her books, though. That has to be worth something.

**Introduction**: This longest of all my finished Harry Potter stories was the result of a plot bunny that unexpectedly came hopping through my head one night and wouldn't really give me any rest until I finally began writing it all down. It was quite a strange experience for me to have – literally from one moment to the next – pretty much the whole arc of a story in my mind; with beginning, end and something in between. Usually, many of my literary attempts (and attempts of other kinds...) either fall victim to my perfectionism, or miserably fail somewhere along the road due to an overflow of ideas for alternative ways of telling it and my inability to decide which ones to use. In this most lucky of cases I immediately knew what I wanted to tell in such detail, that filling out the few gaps my dear plot bunny left blank became surprisingly easy.

Writing it was a comforting experience; a most welcome reprieve from all things reality. Normally, comedy isn't even really my genre, but sometimes… I guess you just need it. I certainly did in this instance, and so I set out to finally write my very own, humble tale of some light-hearted Hogwarts romance, revolving around my two favorite fanfiction characters, as I so often have read them before (hopefully, not _exactly _like I read them before).

I did not plan on sharing it with anyone besides my sister while writing it, but now that I have started this whole thing, I might as well upload the story I'm probably most proud of – if only for the simple fact that it's the longest. It'll be five chapters and about 20.000 words in total, so I believe it can still be considered rather short. Well, for once I did not set out to write the most epic Harry Potter story since the time the first ape picked up a pen – and behold: I actually finished it!

With the way I handle my personal interpretations of the charcters, this obviously has to be considered AU. It does take place in Hogwarts, although during which year is never specified (it could be a somewhat different version of sixth year, or a very much AU seventh - it doesn't really matter in this case, I think). There are a few references to previous events from canon, however, so the way I imagined it is really a hybrid between what happened in the books and my own versions of the characters and their relationships. For example, Ron was never hot for Hermione in my playground and I simply write him the way I like him to be. It should become clear over the course of the story, I believe.

I hope some of you will find at least a little of the enjoyment in here that I had while writing it.

* * *

><p><strong>Amor Veritatis – Vero Amore<strong>

**-I-**

"So, what's our schedule for today?" asked a drowsy Ron, unsuccessfully trying to stifle the yawn that was escaping his mouth in that very moment.

Hermione rolled her eyes without looking at him.

"Probably less than _my_ schedule and exactly the same as every Thursday," she said with an annoyance in her voice that had pretty much become habitual for her whenever dealing with Ron – a fact that might just have annoyed her even more.

"Jeez," Ron muttered between his mouthfuls of breakfast. "I was just asking."

Hermione sighed guiltily.

"Sorry," she said and turned towards him, watching him eat with plain disgust showing on her face.

The Great Hall was quickly filling with students from all houses, some more awake than others, and soon it was the usual, bustling scenery of teenagers eager for breakfast. The air was filled with busy chitchat, joining together from the four house tables into a completely indistinguishable culmination of noise. Something was missing though, and Hermione seemed to be the only one conscious of that, unswervingly watching the entrance to the hall. Ron did not seem to care, however, being way to busy with the huge pile of food in front of him.

"Where's Harry?" Hermione finally articulated the question out loud that she had been pondering over for the past few minutes inside her head.

"I don't know," Ron simply stated matter-of-factly.

"Why isn't he here yet?" she wondered more to herself and not even really taking any notice of Ron's answer, before turning around to ask him directly: "Why didn't he come down with you, as usual?"

"I don't know," Ron repeated, reminding Hermione of a broken record – that was eating.

Ron, though, suddenly had the presence of mind to realize that his current choice of answers would not be healthy for Hermione's temper and, thus, not for him in the long run, so he chose to elaborate further, even refraining from taking another bite before doing so.

"I haven't really seen that much of him today," he said. "But he _was_ awake. When I asked if he was coming, he said I should just go on ahead."

"And so you did just that," Hermione stated flatly. "Without any kind of inquiry whatsoever."

Ron hesitated for a moment, apparently searching the truthful answer somewhere above him.

"Yes…" he slowly said, making it sound much more like a question.

Hermione simply groaned and turned her attention back to the doorway. Ron could live with that reaction and got back to his own tasteful business.

"Seriously, Hermione," he said again with a full mouth. "You worry far too much. Let the guy be late for breakfast, for Merlin's sake. Eat something."

The young witch turned around and shot him an angry look, which was enough to make Ron back off.

"Or not," he mumbled.

The moment Hermione looked towards the entrance of the Great Hall yet again, she finally saw what she had been looking for the whole time. Harry, amongst a few other latecomers, entered through the doorway and – much to Hermione's surprise – looked rather content; happy, even. When he finally arrived at his usual place at the Gryffindor table he practically beamed at them, which only increased Hermione's already higher-than-average confusion. Considering the mood he had usually been in for the past few weeks, such a drastic change in demeanor came rather unexpectedly, to say the least.

"Good morning," he greeted them cheerfully while taking his seat next to Ron and across Hermione.

"What the heck's going on with you?" Ron asked without looking up from his plate.

As far as Hermione was concerned, that settled it. If even Ron took immediate notice of Harry's sudden change of attitude – without so much as looking at him, mind you – something was definitely going on here.

"Nice to see you too, Ron," Harry said jokingly, his smile not faltering in the least. When he turned to face Hermione and saw her questioning expression under furrowed eyebrows, he raised his own in puzzlement. "What is it?"

"Nothing," Hermione slowly stated with a scrutinizing gaze, choosing not to reveal her suspicions yet. "You just seem to be in a surprisingly good mood."

"Well, yes. I'm feeling quite alright and see no reason not to," he answered, then put on an over the top hurtful expression and added: "Don't you want me to be happy?"

Hermione rolled her eyes, although she was unable to keep her lips from turning into a smile at his unusually playful behavior. It reminded her of a more innocent Harry she hadn't seen in quite some time.

"Of course I do," she said truthfully.

Harry and Hermione then joined Ron in actually focusing on having some breakfast, even if they were a little less enthusiastic about it. After a while, Hermione found herself forgetting about Harry's odd display of untroubled happiness, taking a comforting feeling of relief out of it herself. Seeing him like this after far too many days of downcast eyes and forced smiles made her not even want to ask where this abrupt change in his condition came from. Maybe he really just had a good day. If anyone deserved that much, it surely was Harry.

Their light-hearted round of enjoying breakfast and an easygoing chat about this and that and not much at all, with Ron rarely taking a break from eating to say something himself, came to a sudden halt in a rather peculiar fashion.

"Your hair looks nice," someone said, and that someone – to anyone's utter disbelief who could actually hear him – seemed to be Harry.

While Ron immediately stopped chewing halfway through a big chunk of bread, Hermione's head jolted up and stopped short, a disturbing mixture of both disbelief and horror showing on her features when she found Harry looking directly at her, which was in no way agreeable with what he seemed to have said a second before.

"Whose hair?" asked Ron, looking around in search of anyone Harry could actually be talking about. He even diffidently touched his own hair for a moment.

"Hermione's, of course, you cutup," Harry answered joyfully. He directly turned his attention back to Hermione, who seemed to be giving a spontaneous impression of some kind of statue.

Ron looked back and forth between the two, absentmindedly chewing on his bread once in a while.

"What?" Harry finally asked, honestly confused. "It does."

"What does?" asked Ron.

"Her hair."

"Does what?"

"Look nice, damn it," exclaimed Harry, rather exasperated by now. "What's wrong with saying it?"

"It's… not, I guess," Ron slowly contemplated. "But… you normally don't."

"You definitely don't. Never have, as far as I can tell", Neville chimed in, who was sitting next to Hermione and had only really taken notice of the conversation to his side when Harry said what he'd apparently never said before.

Harry looked at both of them in turn, utterly perplexed by the situation.

"So?" he challenged with the slightest hint of desperation in his voice. "Shame on me, right? Maybe I have never _explicitly_ stated that pumpkin juice tastes good, but it still did all the time. And so does Hermione's hair. I mean… not taste good, but look good. It's always been rather bushy – which I did have nothing against, by the way – but lately it's been more, like… wavy, you know? Like waves."

He actually made a waving motion with his hands, as if to emphasize his argument, then continued:

"And I like the way it frames her face today. I noticed it just now, when she was looking down at her plate. And there is nothing wrong with saying it, right?"

He turned his head to each of them expectantly; part of him positively convinced that he had made his point.

"Right?" he repeated, that half-baked conviction rapidly fading. "Come on, guys."

He was met with raised eyebrows and expressions of total disbelief on both sides. Ron seemed to have lost every motivation to chew at all, his mouth actually standing slightly agape. Harry, giving up on any kind of support from his friends, faced Hermione again, who was still dumbstruck and didn't seem to have moved at all. Her wide eyes were fixed on a point somewhere in a far distance.

"I… uh," Harry stammered, the awkward situation finally taking hold of him. "I didn't mean to… to make you uncomfortable. I just wanted to say… what I said. So I did. I am sorry if that was wrong."

A few seconds of silence passed, with Harry waiting for some kind of reaction from Hermione; Neville and Ron waiting for a chance to get back to finishing their breakfast; and Hermione probably waiting for reality to set back in.

"It's okay," she suddenly said with a strangely distant voice and as if to reassure herself. "I'm okay."

"Really?" Harry asked, mustering her skeptically.

"Yes," she affirmed. "You just casually said something about my hair. That's okay. There's nothing to it, right?"

"I didn't just say it, though," Harry insisted carefully. "I meant it."

"Of course," Hermione hastily confirmed. "Of course you did."

Another silence set in between them, which was broken by a disturbingly loud crunching sound coming from Neville, who was eating cornflakes. Hermione actually flinched. Neville stopped short and looked at them apologetically.

"Well, that settles that," Ron chose to take the opportunity to declare the whole matter finished.

They all continued their breakfast in silence, some more contently so than others. Hermione practically tried to bury herself in her food from there on, although no one really noticed it. Harry himself didn't dare to look up from his plate that much either, even if he was still more confused than anything else. Why everyone was making such a fuss about something so harmless was beyond him. Had he given them the impression that he couldn't show his appreciation for his friends? They were acting as if he had never said something good about Hermione before. And, at any rate, he was simply stating a fact in his opinion.

A few minutes later, everyone was relieved when breakfast officially ended and the time arrived to get ready for classes; everyone except Ron, of course, who hadn't finished his pudding yet.

"They don't give us enough time!" he lamented loudly, throwing his arms into the air in hopeless resignation.

For once, Hermione found herself grateful for Ron's ability to just forget things that easily and not to make such a big deal out of them, getting back to everyday routine in a flash. She gratefully took the opportunity to pretend that nothing out of the ordinary happened and took on her usual "study mode", as Ron had come to call it.

"I am off to Muggle Studies, then", she declared with her most businesslike voice. "I'll see you guys later in Transfiguration."

And with that she hurried away, only half-heartedly trying to conceal her haste. Harry watched her go and sighed deeply. Her hair _did_ look nice.

"Come on, mate," Ron said, apparently presuming that Harry was sighing out of reluctance to take on yet another day of school. "Time to get back to the future."

"You know that movie?" Harry asked, astounded.

"Say what?"

"Never mind."

And thus they walked off towards another two enlightening hours of Professor Trelawney's theatrically presented and, as Ron was still convinced, totally drug-induced mumbo jumbo.

~x~

"You know, I _really_ would not have guessed that there is a whole lot of _uncertainty _in your future," Ron declared while they were descending the stairs down from the Divination classroom up in the tower. "Then again, I never _did_ think of looking for it in a pool of muddy water with a drop of ink in it."

Harry laughed at his friend's dramatic display of admiration for Professor Trelawney's most respectable skills.

"Yeah," he said. "You still can't figure out how someone would be willing to pay her for that stuff, can you?"

Ron's performance came to an abrupt halt and his face turned more serious again.

"Nope. No idea."

They made their way down the corridor and through the throng of students from all four houses heading into every possible direction on their way to their respective classes. Luna Lovegood came up from behind, having overheard their exchange about Trelawney's class.

"You know," she began with her usual, airy voice. "You shouldn't talk about Professor Trelawney that way. There is truth in her teachings."

"Of course there is," Ron replied sarcastically. "Problem is she hasn't found it yet."

Harry bit his lower lip in order to prevent himself from laughing out loud. He always exerted himself to show as much respect for Luna's peculiarities as possible, which could sometimes be anything but easy.

"You'll see," Luna warned him. "One of these days, you will wish you had taken Divination more seriously, so as to prevent something bad from happening to you."

"Like… taking Trelawney's class?" Ron asked, then thoughtfully directed his eyes upwards. "If only I had looked into the future back then."

Harry couldn't help himself and snorted.

"Isn't that some kind of paradox?" he wondered. "Learning the art of Divination in order to prevent oneself from ever doing so at all?"

Luna shook her head at her frivolous friends.

"At least watch where you are going, Ronald," she said, walking with rather strange looking lunges herself. "You are stepping on those poor Gnarblewinks all the time."

Ron immediately faltered in his walk and, completely baffled by her unexpected statement, cast his eyes on the ground, checking for anything he was actually stepping on, which – as he found – was only the ground itself.

"What the…?" he began, but Luna cut him off and strode past them with a disapproving look on her face, every few steps seemingly dodging thin air.

When they finally reached the classroom for McGonagall's lesson, Hermione and a few Hufflepuffs, with whom they shared the course this year, were already there. Harry took his usual seat next to Hermione while Ron sat down at the table nearest to Harry's other side, waiting for Neville to fill the place next to him.

Hermione was so absorbed by the book she was reading that she was actually startled when someone suddenly sat down next to her.

"Hey," Harry greeted her warmly and nodded at the book in her hands. "Are you finished already with this term's lecture?"

Hermione playfully made a face at him. Two hours of distraction had done their part to help Hermione get over this morning's episode, although it had been nagging at her mind the whole time. Harry seemed to be as comfortable around her as usual, too, so she was more than willing to go along with it.

"Very funny," she said monotonously. "I am actually reading a novel."

Harry leaned towards her in response and took a more observant look at her book.

"I see. Emma. Jane Austen, eh?" he said smiling. "That's very… woman-like of you."

"Oh, please," Hermione retorted, being well aware that he was simply teasing. "Prejudices, Mr. Potter? Really?"

"Pride, Miss Granger?"

"Oh?" it came from Hermione, a hint of honest surprise in her otherwise playful reaction. "You know your literature, don't you?"

"I _can_ read, you know?" Harry said jokingly.

They shared a laugh and Hermione gently closed her book.

"How was Muggle Studies?" he asked with honest intentions, although – considering the topic – it was impossible to ask without suggesting yet another tease.

"Well, I am reluctant to give you the satisfaction, but I did in fact learn nothing new," Hermione replied truthfully, earning a coy smile from Harry. "You do know, though, that I chose the course in order to study the – as it turns out – apparently endless number of misconceptions wizards still have to this day about muggle society. That course needs some serious overhauling."

"And you will be the one to do just that?" asked Harry without the slightest hint of sarcasm.

"Maybe," she challenged.

"You could," Harry said plainly. "No doubt about it."

Hermione was surprised by the honesty of his statement and didn't know how to respond. Luckily for her, Professor McGonagall chose that very moment to enter the classroom.

"Good morning," the head of house Gryffindor greeted the gathered students. "Today, as you made me promise, we will enjoy something less… serious than it seems to usually be the case in my courses."

She did look rather reluctant when she said that, but she instantly put on a warning look when she saw the satisfied smiles of her expectant students. "Which most certainly does not mean it is going to be easy. In fact, we will work on a rather advanced piece of magic and what could be called a hybrid between the arts of Transfiguration and Charms."

For whatever number of smiles faltered following that statement, Hermione actually smiled for the first time. She had not approved of her classmates' attempt to get Professor McGonagall to "loosen up a bit". These were no times to get sloppy on the development of one's magical skills. In the prospect of a challenge, however, Hermione did lighten up a bit.

"The _Desiderium_ charm has the characteristic trait of working only through a transfiguration. What you see on the table behind me, now, are blocks of enchanted, never-melting ice. Quite fancy, I know, but I thought we could at the very least go about this with a certain style. What each of you will be trying to accomplish today, is to utilize the _Desiderium_ in order to change a block of ice into a physical representation of one of, if not _the_ most prominent wish you have."

There was some amount of murmuring going on as well as a few nervous glances thrown around following that revelation. Some might even have begun to question if it had been the best idea to convince McGonagall of deviating from her regular schedule.

"Yes, yes," she responded to the erupted disquiet, motioning her class to get back to order with an unmistakable gesture of her hands. "I know this could potentially get us all into a multitude of most compromising situations, considering all of you are still pubescent teenagers, but I do believe – _hope_, at the very least – that your truest desires are in fact beyond such vulgarities. Furthermore, you might have a slight misconception of how this spell actually works. You will not be able to consciously influence the spell by thinking about the desired result really hard. In fact, such meddling will only do its part to disturb the spell's more intricate workings. If you get it right, which is difficult enough all by itself, the _Desiderium_ will work completely on its own and choose – or rather, find your most honest desire and thus, create its physical representation out of the object it is connected with through correct wand movement. Depending on the quality of its execution, the results may vary considerably. The physical form your wish takes might be of an abstract nature, leaving much to individual interpretation, and in order to actually reach your most inner wish, the spell will firstly have to be cast impeccably, and the caster will secondly have to cast it with a free, undisturbed mind; without preconceptions and such."

While this explanation did its part to calm the students down, it also lead to more than half of the class believing that they would still be sitting in front of an unchanged block of ice after two hours of wiggling their wands at it.

Professor McGonagall went on to explain the actual performing of the spell and emphasized how the movement of the wand, which she demonstrated multiple times, had to be most precise and in a certain, exact timing with the incantation of the spell's formula; _desiderium detego_. One had to begin with the first phase of the wand movement, then initiate the incantation, which had to be synchronized with the second phase of the movement, before finishing the spell casting with the final movement of the wand, directing its tip directly at the object that one wished to transform at both the starting and the ending point of the whole process.

"Also," she added as an afterthought. "While the ice is in fact unable to melt, it is fully capable of exploding. I ask you to keep that in mind, Mr. Finnigan."

Everyone agreed already that Professor McGonagall had evidently chosen the hardest spell they had yet to learn this year as an alleged "relief" from her regular, demanding schedule. At least, as the Professor pointed out in face of her student's dampened enthusiasm, they got to keep the results, for the ice would definitely never melt, as long as it wasn't exposed to a dragon's fire. It did not improve the general mood in the classroom.

Nonetheless, they all fetched their own block of never-melting ice from the teacher's table and returned to their seats to start trying their luck on them. Professor McGonagall strode from table to table to help everybody, correcting mistakes in wand movement and timing wherever she could; or, in the case of Neville, repeating the correct formula of the spell again.

Hermione, as it came as no surprise to anyone, seemed to be making the most conceivable progress yet again. After only a couple of fruitless attempts, her block of ice began to vibrate ever so slightly with every following try. Harry, eager to keep up with her, followed suit only shortly afterwards. Ron's block of ice made one believe that it might just actually melt despite everything McGonagall had said before it would turn it into anything else.

"Say," he pondered in earnest. "What if my greatest wish is to melt this never-melting ice? Would that work?"

Seamus Finnigan laughed out loud in the middle of an incantation and managed to blow a corner of his ice-block to pieces.

"Come on," his comrade Dean Thomas encouraged him. "You can do better than that."

Besides the progress Harry and Hermione were making, Ernie Macmillan managed to score the highest amount of attention during the first hour when he made his block of ice levitate nearly two feet above his table, with not even Professor McGonagall being able to explain how he did that without casting the appropriate spell. So the most striking progress of sixty minutes of exhausting attempts at magic was actually no progress at all, although Neville suggested his strongest wish might be to fly.

At one point, McGonagall finally agreed to demonstrate that the spell did really work and thus, performed it herself. With her very first attempt – if one might even be inclined to call it that with the experienced Professor – the block of ice turned into a little sculpture, which in its detailed form only those in the first row could hope to make out. Hermione's admiring smile at her Professor's skill faded into a thoughtful frown when she realized that the sculpture was apparently a representation of a human child. McGonagall herself – and quite uncharacteristically so – blushed ever so slightly and excused herself for not showing her result around, instead putting it away in one of the table's drawers.

The waggling of wands and the reciting of incantations of the spell's formula went on past the hour mark, with exclamations of both excitement and frustration constantly mixing into the general atmosphere. Harry had gotten increasingly focused on the task at hand and, after a while, unconsciously began to blend out his surroundings. He repeated the whole routine time after time with an astounding mixture of composure and intensity, which slowly but surely made Hermione shift her own attention from her own work to her friend in spite of herself, smiling involuntarily while watching his concentrated and fiercely resolute expression.

Then suddenly, after an increasing number of attempts that made the block of ice shrink and deform before returning to its original shape and size, a bluish glow emanated from the tip of Harry's wand out of which the finest tendrils of light came forth, reaching for the ice and finally enlacing it. Within the glowing net of tendrils, the ice began to slowly change its shape. It took a while before one could even hope to discern what form it took, but at some point, with the fading tendrils losing connection to the wand and coming together above the ice to dissolve into thin air, there finally stood a distinctively different sculpture on the table in front of Harry. There were more than a few pairs of eyes that watched the whole procedure with great curiosity and wonderment. The transformation had not looked like that when Professor McGonagall had performed it earlier, though hers had gone by much faster.

"It's… a hand," Hermione observed pensively.

"It's beautiful," vocalized an amazed Harry the only thought in his mind at that moment. He then abruptly became aware of where he was, cleared his throat and added honestly perplexed: "Did I really do this?"

Professor McGonagall smiled at him fondly. She couldn't conceal the pride in her Gryffindor student, although part of her was surprised that Miss Granger had not been the first to show success.

"A most remarkable display of magic, Mr. Potter," she complimented him amply. "And, if I might add on a purely aesthetic point, some beautiful work of craftsmanship, too. The quality of the sculpture does indeed correlate with the effort the caster puts into it."

Harry, still unable to tear his eyes away from the glinting ice sculpture, gazed at it in a nearly trancelike state.

"So what's it mean?" asked a more impatient Ron, coming over to their table to take a closer look. "You already got two hands of your own."

"I don't know," responded Harry dreamily, sounding as if he couldn't care less about its meaning.

"May I?" asked Hermione, indicating that she would like to inspect Harry's creation in more detail.

He nodded and watched Hermione take the shimmering hand of ice into her own hands, turning it around to look at it from all angles. While Hermione was far too concentrated on marveling at the skillful craftsmanship this flawless sculpture would have to be created with and Harry was simply revering the beauty of the thing itself, Ron was actually the first to be hit by lightning and to suddenly gape with eyes wide open.

"Hermione," he practically whispered. "That's _your_ hand."

Quite uncharacteristically, it took Hermione a while to fully comprehend what Ron was saying. She was holding _the_ hand in _her_ hand, so what could he be talking about? She knew _her_ hand was _her_ hand, so…

"No," she stated disbelievingly, an expression taking hold of her features that was very reminiscent of a certain scene from earlier that day.

"Yes it is," Ron insisted. "Look."

And he took the sculpture, put it into Hermione's left hand and slightly adjusted it so that both hands were in a similar posture. All pieces falling into place, there were a few gasps to be heard in the classroom, while Professor McGonagall simply watched the whole scene unfolding before her eyes with subtle amusement.

Hermione's left hand was now holding a disturbingly perfect replication of itself. One of those hands started trembling first, and Hermione feared that everyone would know very well that it wasn't the one made of ice. Despite her shivering hand, though, she was unable to move and – even worse – unable to put together a clear thought. Feeling the blood rising to her head, she did not dare to look around – least of all towards Harry. There was no way this could get any worse.

"Oi, Harry," yelled Seamus from a few rows behind. "Whatcha want with 'mione's hand?"

A few giggles were heard while Ron eyed his best friend as if he were expecting a serious answer to this most serious of inquiries. Harry did the first thing that came to his mind, which – unluckily for him – was to start talking.

"So what?" he said, trying very hard to sound as casual as the most casual person to ever say something casually. He even shrugged his shoulders. "As you can see, Hermione clearly has beautiful hands. If you ask me, my wish was to create something beautiful. Since Hermione's hands were right next to me the whole time, it's only understandable that I… or the spell would choose them. It's easier to work off a model, right?"

If it weren't for the fact that everyone in the room knew that he was talking nonsense, his explanation might just have sounded plausible. If he was at a loss already, desperation took hold of him with full force once he looked at Hermione. She looked horrified.

Why did this have to happen? It seemed to him as if the last hour was completely blank in his memory. How had he even accomplished that spell at all? It felt as if he had not focused in the least, instead daydreaming the whole time. In his mind, everything had been okay the one moment, and then this whole mess of a situation suddenly manifested in the next. He couldn't make any sense of it, and seeing Hermione apparently so ashamed of herself filled him with guilt and regret. He simply did not know what to do and was sure of only one thing at that moment: he wanted to be somewhere else.

"Could I please… leave class early, Professor McGonagall?" he then asked in the very second when Hermione began to quietly speak out his name, thus not noticing it. "I appear to have finished the task, so maybe you would be willing to…"

"It is okay, Mr. Potter," agreed the Professor sympathetically. "You may leave."

He nodded gratefully and, with a last glance at Hermione, who appeared as frozen as the hand of ice she was still holding onto and was looking at him with an unreadable expression, left the room without looking up to any of his classmates.

No one was joking or giggling at this point and the course in fact continued in a rather subdued atmosphere. Hermione did the only thing she could do to get through those minutes and tried to focus on the remaining task with defiant diligence. Ron watched her from time to time with growing concern, noticing how hard she was being on herself. What concrete emotions roamed inside her he did not understand, but that they were taking hold of her he could see.

There were some to announce success after Harry had left and the general mood improved somewhat. For Hermione, all that was just more fuel for her uncontrollable and maddeningly irrational mixture of feelings. The two hours were nearing an end and another nine students had been allowed to leave early after accomplishing the spell. No one had exhausted himself as much as Hermione did. She never took a break; she never stopped for even a second. Attempt after attempt; again and again. Her ice block, by now, was constantly shaking, as if it were a physical manifestation of her inner turmoil.

"Miss Granger," a worried Professor McGonagall began carefully, a few minutes after the official end of her class. "Do you not think it might be more reasonable to call it a day? I have no doubt you will accomplish this spell with no effort at all once you are… feeling better again."

"Please, Professor McGonagall," Hermione spoke, trying hard to keep her voice steady. "I am fine. I have to finish this."

The older woman sighed heavily, knowing very well that Hermione had perfected the whole technical part of the spell many attempts ago and was only unsuccessful because of her chaotic emotions. She looked at Ron, who was the only other student left – even though he had given up to care about that damn block of ice quite a while ago. He nodded, understanding the Professor's unspoken question.

With McGonagall leaving the room, Hermione unhesitatingly continued with her routine, Ron keeping watch with a combination of patience and tiredness. After another five minutes of repeats, she stopped in the middle of an angrily spoken incantation, a tear forming in her eye and her lips trembling. She breathed heavily and Ron was about to say something, when she suddenly took an especially deep breath and, eyes closed, went through the routine once again. One last time.

With her eyes still closed, she did not see the glowing light, the delicate tendrils and the magnificent transformation of the ice, with the light slowly fading away. Only when she felt her heart-rate going down and a welcome calm spreading through her, she opened her eyes again and beheld the small, spherical sculpture, two wings protruding from it vis-à-vis.

She reached out with her left hand and picked the familiar object up, gazing at it thoughtfully. Hermione undoubtedly had no intentions at all to ever become a Quidditch player.

~xXx~

* * *

><p>Author's Note: I can give no guarantee for the correctness of my humble attempts at Latin here. The whole reason for this story being finished is that I actually - and surprisingly successfully - tried to contain my usual perfectionism and insane passion for detail, so when I had to make use of my more than rusty Latin skills, I did not set out to learn the whole language before deciding on a title. The title <em>should<em> mean "The Love of/for Truth - Out of True Love" and luckily sounds less corny when not translated. "Vero amore" actually is, if I am informed correctly, both modern Italian (where it supposedly means "True love") as well as Latin, where it - as I hope - means "Out of / motivated by true love". As far as the _Desiderium_ spell is concerned, I'm not really sure if its incantation makes any sense. With stuff like _Wingardium Leviosa_ as company, I guess it doesn't really matter either way.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer**: We all know the drill. All things Potter belong to J.K. Rowling. Copyrights are my playground.

**About timing and stuff**: I guess it could be 5th year then. But, you see, this is exactly what I meant: normally I would chew myself through all those tiny details and – more often than not – stumble over them at one point or another. For example, my last attempt at a huge, serious story of epic proportions about the years after Hogwarts ended with me having written less pages of the actual story than pages with notes, ideas, concepts, timelines and my own set of rules about the way magic is supposed to work.

This time, I resolutely kept myself from getting caught in these cobwebs of details and instead focused solely on getting the story itself done. And the classes they would be taking actually were one of those moments in which I halted for a second, thinking "Wait, which courses would they be taking? What about NEWTs? In which year is this taking place? What am I doing? Oh my god, what is the world coming to?" – and then I quite magically just leaped over this hurdle by typing away and simply choosing the classes I liked for my story. It's honestly not my normal way of doing things, but in this case it was the defining ingredient of finishing the whole thing.

So, I hope you guys will cut me some slack here. As long as the story works in and on itself – which I hope it does – a few discrepancies between canon and my setting might be forgivable, especially when it concerns things that are not essential to the story itself.

Okay, enough of my ramblings. Here's another chapter – and three more to go after this. Thanks for the nice reviews up to this point. It's probably all going downhill from here on…

* * *

><p><strong>-II-<strong>

Ron looked for Harry in all of Gryffindor tower – with the exception, of course, being the girl's dormitories – in vain. He was nowhere to be found, and no one he asked seemed to have seen him. He did not want to go rummaging through Harry's things in search of the Marauder's map, so he stepped out of the common room with the alluring prospect of having only a whole castle to search. In a lucky coincidence, though, he met his sister Ginny in the hallways.

"Hey, do you by any chance know where-," he began to ask her, only then noticing that she made a rather downcast impression. "What's wrong? You alright?"

"It's nothing," Ginny evaded, failing to conceal her apparent sadness. "What did you want to ask me?"

Ron was reluctant to play along for a second, but given the not so little chance this would have something to do with girl-stuff, he decided not to push the issue.

"If by any chance you would know where I can find Harry," he finished his question.

Ginny winced slightly and Ron was about to ask her yet again about her condition, but his sister kept herself together and answered with somewhat exaggerated indifference:

"At the Qudditich pitch, I guess. I saw him downstairs with his broom."

Ron nodded, eying his sister with suspicion.

"Thanks," he just said.

She simply nodded at him and left.

Ron watched her go and shook his head. "I'm sure it's just girl-stuff," he thought to himself.

He walked along the corridor, made his way downstairs to the castle's ground floor and headed straight for the great doorway that lead outside. It was not the worst of autumn days, with only some clouds here and there, covering a gray-blue sky and a sun that did its best, though it was quite cold nonetheless. Ron saw Hagrid near his hut in the distance, apparently working on something. His big boarhound Fang was animatedly jumping around his master, which did not seem to be as much fun for the man as it was for the dog.

Ron continued approaching the Quidditch pitch, even from the distance making out a single figure that was flying up high above the ranks. Given the specific way that person was flying, Ron had no doubt that it was indeed Harry. Walking through the locker-rooms, he grabbed one of the practice brooms and stepped outside onto the green pitch. He kicked himself off the ground and rose up to reach Harry's varying height. Luckily, his friend noticed him after only a few seconds and came flying towards him, halting just a meter to his side.

"Nice to know where you are," Ron greeted him.

"Sorry, mum," Harry quipped.

Ron hesitated for a moment, choosing to look around and take in the view instead.

"Say, Harry," he started, unsure of himself. "Is everything… alright with you?"

Harry mustered his friend for a second before answering.

"What do you mean?"

Ron puffed out some air.

"Come on, you know what I mean," he claimed, giving Harry a telling look.

Harry watched him expectantly, refusing to say a word. His friend sighed.

"You've been acting… a little strange today," he carefully explained his motivation for talking to him.

Harry remained silent.

"What, you don't think so?" challenged Ron.

"I don't know."

"You don't know," Ron repeated incredulously.

"It's been a strange day, for sure," Harry offered his own version. "But I don't see how I could be the exclusive source of that strangeness."

Ron scratched the back of his head. This turned out to be a bit more complicated than he had dared to hope.

"Harry, mate… you've been behaving weird all day. Your sudden… jolly display alone is reason enough to wonder, considering the weeks of full-time brooding that preceded it."

"I'm sure as hell getting _jolly_ fed up with this," Harry groaned. "Is there a problem with me being happy or something?"

Ron was growing impatient.

"Now don't be ridiculous. That's nonsense. It is only the abrupt change in your mood that is conspicuous, not your mood itself. I just want to make sure you are alright."

It was Harry's turn to let out a heavy sigh.

"But that's the point: I am. Or at least I was. I don't know."

Ron thought for a moment.

"Well," he said. "Whatever you're going through, I'm sure we'll figure it out. You are – or were – having a good day. Alright, let's accept that for a second. But, dude… what the heck's going on with you about Hermione? Having a good day does _not_ cover _that_."

"So that's what it's about?"

"It's certainly not the most insignificant part of today's weirdness."

"And why is that? What is so awfully weird about it?"

"Harry…" Ron nearly pleaded. "Come on! Her _hair looks nice_?"

"You don't think so?"

Ron took a moment to rub his temples with thumb and middle-finger of his left hand.

"Okay," he seemingly spoke to himself before addressing Harry directly again. "The sculpture? Her hand?"

Harry avoided looking at him and instead turned his broom in slow circles. Ron thought that it was probably an improvised substitute for shuffling his feet on the ground, what with the ground being a hundred feet below them and all.

"It's that bad, isn't it?"

"I don't know," Harry said again. "I guess. She doesn't feel the same way, though, so it doesn't really matter."

Ron shook his head in disbelief.

"So you're basically telling me you're in love with Hermione now, or what?"

"I wasn't saying that," answered Harry. "But I am."

Ron lost his grip on the broom and abruptly sank a few feet, immediately recovering to regain his former height.

"Why is that so shocking?" asked Harry.

While being steady in the air again, Ron was still not feeling all that stable inside his head.

"It's just – isn't it a bit… sudden?"

"What, you think I fell in love with her today at breakfast and kicked the whole thing off by mentioning how nice her hair looks?" Harry asked equally incredulous as Ron had so many times before.

"I guess not," Ron mumbled, rolling his eyes. "But… you never mentioned it. We never talked about it. And you most certainly never, ever talked about her that way. There was _no_ indication whatsoever that you were thinking about her like _that_."

Harry raised his eyebrows at his best friend.

"I'm not the one who only noticed that Hermione is a girl when I was running out of time to get a date for the Yule ball."

"Guess you were not," Ron said, mumbling nearly inaudibly.

They looked at each other for a few seconds, the one with a distant sadness in his eyes and a halfhearted smile on his lips, the other with the complete loss of faith in the workings of the world written all over his face.

"Man," Ron said, again shaking his head. "I can't believe this. So that hand in McGonagall's class, your sculpture… that really meant… man."

"How is she?"

"What, the hand?"

Harry grimaced at his best friend.

"Right, right," Ron caught up. "Well, uh… I guess she's… she's… I'm sure that… she… well, to be perfectly honest: I have no idea how she really is. I mean, you saw her. One might say she didn't take it… all that well. I'm inclined to say that she's the best proof for what I've been trying to tell you the whole time. Or would you say that her reactions were those of a person who was experiencing something she was totally expecting?"

"Not exactly... I wasn't saying that my feelings were absolutely obvious the whole time," Harry defended his point. "But I know for sure that there are quite a few people in Hogwarts – hell, the whole wizarding part of the world who presume, who expect, who gossip about… well, Harry Potter and his _female friend_. Isn't there a whole monthly column in the Daily Prophet that's only about the love life, or lack thereof, of the boy-who-lived?"

"Yes, yes. They got it all figured out," Ron confirmed. "It's weakly, though."

Harry shook his head in disgust.

They spent a few minutes in silence, each of them following his own trail of thought. Ron had a hard time figuring this out in its entirety.

"So," he finally broke the silence. "We've officially managed to miss lunch. And here I was, thinking this day couldn't actually get any worse. But rescue is near! We could end it all by committing suicide through actually missing Potions."

Harry laughed.

"But why would we?" he joined the jest. "Are you not sick of this fresh air? Let us seek refuge from freedom in jolly old Snape's damp dungeon of many smells and nauseations."

"Would you please not catch me when I let go of my broom in a second?"

~x~

Harry was used to Potions classes being an ordeal for him, border-lining on fully fledged torture. Well, truthfully, it had actually improved with time, since Harry had gotten much less susceptible to Snape's attitude towards him, which had made his tormentor lose interest in the whole routine in turn. Since, in addition, he was not half bad in Potions, there was not much left for Snape to work with. Nevertheless, Harry was somehow so used to Snape's class being his personal hell that he still considered it to be just that, no matter if Snape himself could deliver or not.

On this day, though, the two hours of brewing steaming potions in the windowless bowels of the castle were torturing Harry for a completely different reason, and he would have much preferred the old version over this. Today, as it was regularly the case, they had again to work on a more challenging potion that would be – as even Snape accepted – impossible to complete for only one person within the two hours they had, demanding fluent and well coordinated teamwork. Normally, Harry would team up with Hermione and they would always have a good chance of finishing not only ahead of class, but with very respectable results, too – much to the displeasure of a certain Professor. They didn't even have to talk most of the time, simply complementing each other's work steps; sharing knowing smiles and a stifled laugh or two once in a while. Harry had always deeply appreciated these _joint ventures_ with her.

Today, Hermione was not working with him. She had teamed up with Neville, which might just have been a consolation for Harry, since his fellow Gryffindor could really need the help and actually – when not throwing uncertain glances at Harry – seemed to be quite thrilled at the prospect of brewing a potion that worked as intended for once. The lump in his throat, the pressure on his chest and the chaos in his mind, however, made it rather hard for him to sympathize with Neville.

Hermione had, at the beginning of the class, simply announced that she would be helping Neville today, if that were okay. Harry had neither the opportunity nor the presence of mind to respond anything, so matters had just taken their course and he instead worked with Ron, who felt utterly helpless in the middle of it all.

With Harry's mind all over the place, but never exactly on the task at hand, and while he further stole fleeting glances at Hermione all throughout the duration of the class, who sometimes seemed to be looking at him in those same instances, yet always looked away so fast that Harry couldn't even be sure it happened at all, it's safe to say their potion was not quite top of the class – much to the scornful delight of Professor Snape. So while Hermione had already cleaned up and left together with most of the other students, Harry and Ron were still listening to Snape's private lecture about everything they had done wrong, which, as it turned out, had been quite a lot apparently.

When they had finally fled the indiscernible amount of nauseating odors that hang so heavily in the dungeon's thick air and made their way into the entrance hall, Harry had no hope of catching up with Hermione, although he was not even sure if he really wanted to. He came to a sudden halt, Ron nearly bumping into him.

"So now she's avoiding me," Harry stated, raising his arms in a desperate gesture. "That's great. Just great."

"Maybe it's a girl thing…" Ron began with uncertainty, but Harry cut him off.

"What did I do that was so wrong?" Harry asked, more sadly so than angrily. "Tell me, Ron, 'cause I don't know. I really don't get it."

"Well, it could-" Ron slowly contemplated, but again got interrupted by an agitated Harry.

"I was just being honest! And I couldn't help that thing with the hand, Professor McGonagall explained that much. I embarrassed her, okay – I got that. But it pretty much feels as if I outright offended or even hit her or something."

Ron watched his friend increasingly worried, for he seemed to get more upset with every word he said.

"Calm down, now," he carefully said. "Just give her some time. I told you, it's really been a weird day. Just think about what happened for a second, and how that must have been for Hermione – no matter how she actually feels about it."

"You think I destroyed our friendship today?" Harry asked, his face more stricken than it had been all those weeks before.

"No!" Ron desperately tried to stop his friend's obstinate pessimism. "Don't get all depressed on me, now. Just… let me talk to her."

"Right," Harry sighed quietly, not showing any sign of hope. "I'll be off then, if that's alright with you."

"Yeah, you just go on ahead and get some rest or something."

Harry nodded absent-mindedly and walked away with slumped shoulders and downcast eyes, his friend watching him with both concern and confusion. For Ron Weasley, life sure had felt simpler before he had woken up that morning. He might have felt rather helpless, but there was one thing to do and Ron was determined to live up to it. It was time to search for his friend yet again; only this time, the other one.

~x~

It didn't take Ron long to figure out where Hermione would probably be, and so he unsurprisingly found her sitting at her favorite spot on a cushioned bench next to one of the windows of the library, right at the end of a corridor between the ceiling-high bookcases that were filled to the brim with big, dusty tomes which had probably been touched solely by Hermione in recent years. With a respectable pile of books to her side and nearly a handful of tomes openly stretched out before her, she looked her usual busy self. Seeking refuge in books and study seemed a lot like her, so Ron was anything but surprised. He was surprised, though, when Hermione looked up at him as soon as he sat down on the bench on the other side of the table, and immediately said:

"Good, I need to talk to you."

Ron looked at her perplexedly, his eyebrows raised.

"Something's wrong with Harry," Hermione hastily proclaimed.

Ron's degree of confusion did not benefit from that utterly unexpected statement.

"Okay…" he slowly said, while trying not only to make sense of what Hermione had said, but also to get a grip on just how much stranger this day could get.

"Isn't it obvious?" Hermione asked, puzzled seemingly only now at Ron's very own display of confusion.

"I'm confident you'll explain, so I'll spare me the shame."

"But you noticed it yourself, didn't you?" Hermione appealed to his reason. "At breakfast, even."

"Well, yeah," Ron replied, taking an awful lot of time to speak each individual word, nagging at Hermione's patience while doing so. "He behaved kinda... sorta odd, for sure, but there are a lot of potential explanations for that…"

"He is under the influence of some kind of magic," Hermione stated straight out, not willing to wait for Ron to catch up.

"What?" Ron yelped, evidently beginning to lose his sanity.

"Though I do not know if the source is a spell or a potion yet," Hermione simply added, ignoring Ron's bewilderment.

He looked at her, mouth open and unmoving.

"Again, what?"

Hermione sighed exasperatedly.

"Come on, Ron," she said. "It is the _only_ explanation for Harry's behavior."

"But…" Ron practically stammered. "What are you saying? That someone has put Harry under the _Imperius _to get him crazy about you?"

Hermione snorted, though her face did seem to redden ever so slightly.

"Of course not. It would be the silliest use of the _Imperius_ I have ever heard of," she casually refuted his thought. "But it is something similar, at least as far as the effect is concerned."

Ron thought for a moment.

"So you _are _saying that Harry has fallen victim to some kind of love potion?"

"Not the average, commercial love potion, no," Hermione objected.

"Why not?" asked Ron, maybe intending to simply question everything on this day, just to be safe.

"Because he's not showing the appropriate symptoms," Hermione said naturally.

Ron gave a rather lost impression, looking at her querulously.

"He's not acting _that_ crazy," Hermione elaborated further. "Under the influence of the standard love potion, he would be walking around in a dazed condition and not be thinking about anything but the object of the potion's magic. The term _love_ potion is, in my opinion, ill conceived, for it evokes much more a blind, hormone-driven obsession than feelings with any kind of substance or sincerity to them."

"Right," Ron said, if only for the lack of any basis for objection. "Okay. So then what _is_ going on?"

"I am not sure. That's what I'm trying to find out here," she replied, motioning to the multitude of books around her.

"And what If you're wrong?"

"I'm not."

Ron laughed out loud at that.

"And what makes you so sure of that?" he challenged. "What made you even come to this assumption in the first place?"

"Ron," Hermione said, getting irritated with her friend. "Harry is not like that. He does not see me that way. You know that as well as I do."

"Do we, now?" Ron wondered. "And what if he told me otherwise?"

"Told you what?"

"That he's in love with you."

The briefest flash of change hushed over Hermione's features and her breathing seemed to stop for a mere second, but she held her composure so well that one might have missed it completely.

"If he had indeed said that," Hermione spoke again matter-of-factly. "It would obviously have been due to the effect of the spell which he is currently affected by."

"Because it is so totally unimaginable that he could truly feel about you like that?"

"Yes," Hermione said with clenched jaws. "Just drop it, Ron. Don't try to tell me that you believe that yourself."

The young Weasley sighed and looked out through the window for a few seconds.

"I just don't like it when you treat yourself like that is all," he said softly. "As if you were Millicent Bullstrode or something."

The faintest hint of a smile played around the corner of Hermione's lips, but within a second she was completely serious again.

"I'm simply being realistic," she insisted. "Now let's focus on the issue at hand."

Ron nodded reluctantly and took a deep breath.

"Like who would do this and for what purpose?" he asked. "I mean, who would profit from making Harry act like your personal Prince Charming?"

"I don't know," Hermione replied – and grudgingly so, for it was certainly the answer she most despised to give. "But I think finding out the specifics of the magic that was used is the more promising way of inquiry."

Ron nodded again, this time in honest agreement.

"What have you found out so far?" he asked, taking a more attentive look at the books on the table for the first time.

Hermione let out a frustrated sigh.

"My progress has been… somewhat marginal," she admitted. "There is just not enough to go on and there are myriads of different spells and potions that have something to do with the general issue we are facing."

"Sounds great. Can I still get out of this?"

Hermione made a face at him, then returned to her musings about the events of the day.

"How would you personally describe Harry's behavior today?" she asked him thoughtfully. "You have spent more time with him."

Ron pondered over that for a moment.

"Well," he began slowly. "It's hard to describe, to be honest. It's really weird, now that I think about it. Looking back at it with your supposition in mind, it really is… kind of absurd. The way I see it, he was only acting strange in an obvious way whenever you were around, like during breakfast and in McGonagall's class, while he did seem practically normal besides all that. You know what I mean? I don't think he was acting crazy at any time during the day. At least not _crazy_ crazy. We even talked about Quidditch and stuff. The only crazy thing is… the thing itself. That he's… like… all crazy about you and all that. That's weird, but not the way in which he acts on it. Uh… you know?"

Hermione smiled benignly at Ron's attempted depiction of the events, then grew thoughtful again.

"I think I _do_ know what you mean, actually," she affirmed, though she chose to contemplate it further.

So it was Ron who continued to vocalize his musings about Harry's behavior.

"I mean, he might have said something strange or behaved awkwardly, but then again, it might really come down to the fact that the only odd thing is his alleged affection for you, if that's what we want to call it. If it weren't for the fact that I didn't know about his – alleged – feelings for you before today, I think nothing could be seen as weird in his behavior. He would just be a guy who's in love. That's really all the condition it takes to act strangely, right?"

"Yes," Hermione agreed, listening to him with only one ear. "A remark like the one he made during breakfast would simply be a normal pleasantry if only we were used to hearing such from him. One might say that he's acting disturbingly normal about something that is utterly weird."

Ron nodded eagerly at this felicitous summary of what he tried to express.

"Well," Hermione said, making a tired impression. "That might narrow the range of possible spells and potions down, but I have not yet read anything that really fits as an explanation."

"What, you're telling me there's no spell that makes someone fall in love and act totally normal about it?"

Hermione smiled weakly at her friend's unwavering attempts to lighten a mood wherever he found a bad one. She looked outside towards the western horizon, over which the sun had begun to set; rays of light breaking through clusters of light grey clouds.

"I think we'll have to consult an authority, as delicate as this matter might be," she seemingly spoke half to herself. "I can imagine Harry won't like this, but we cannot eliminate the possibility that it might actually be something dangerous, even if it does not look that way as yet."

Ron concurred and knew instantly what his next job would be. He was kind of getting used to it.

"I'll talk to him," he said dutifully.

Hermione gave his hand a light squeeze and looked at him gratefully.

"You coming back to our tower?" Ron asked.

Hermione shook her Head.

"I'll rather stay a little while longer and read some more."

Ron nodded and gave her a sympathetic smile. He hadn't expected her to respond any different, really, so he left the library and let Hermione be absorbed in her books. When he stepped through the portrait of the fat lady to enter the Gryffindor common room a few minutes later, he silently thought to himself that if this day was good for anything, then it surely had to be the fact that he would definitely have more of an understanding for the troubles a wizard's owl had to endure.

Well, back to Harry it was.

~xXx~


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer**: The more you own the more whatever you own owns you. I don't own the Harry Potter IP, so that's a start.

**About stuff**: Thanks again for your kind reviews. I think I could never take such things for granted and to me it will probably always remain a special experience to share something I created and to have people actually like it. I don't know, but it's just fascinating to me.

Anyway, this chapter is a bit shorter, but given the fact that initially there weren't even any chapters to begin with, since I only put them in later to split the whole thing into reasonable parts, one really can't blame me all that much, I think. Also, I was unsure which secondary genre to choose when I uploaded the story, since there's obviously a bit of drama thrown in for good measure as well, but since whenever I do _real _drama, the body count is usually expected to be much higher, I felt that in this case… wait, I don't want to spoil anything for you. I'm confident you'll figure it all out, so… hopefully, you will not feel utterly mislead when a little drama takes over and the comedy retreats for a while. The first chapter probably remains the most comedic one, though.

Half way through the story, I actually stumbled over one of my more megalomanic impulses and played around with the idea to expand my plot bunny into Shakespearean proportions, maybe a little in the vein of "All's Well That Ends Well" or "Much Ado About Nothing", revolving around a whole ensemble of characters with intertwining plots and complications. But – luckily, as I would say – I shrugged the idea off (at least for now) and focused on the smaller frame I had already established. I didn't write for an audience after all and only sought a peaceful refuge from… the happy stuff of life. Therefore, I kept it simple and just enjoyed the ride. That sentence does not sound like me at all.

* * *

><p><strong>-III-<strong>

If at any point during the day Harry had actually felt good, that moment had certainly passed. He was outright miserable and had been sitting on the cold sill of the dorm's biggest window for more than half an hour, simply staring out into the fading daylight. With everything that had happened today and all the reasons he could be feeling miserable for, the worst part of it all was actually that he couldn't really explain it himself. He did feel as if he had put his heart out into the world, only to watch it being trampled on. He felt like he had been flying high on a plane just this morning, but that plane had come crashing down in smoke and flames. He'd had only good intentions, but somehow they had all turned out completely wrong. He had embarrassed Hermione, made a fool out of himself and probably – worst of all – endangered his most valued friendship with her. And all of that in a matter of only a few hours, through his allegedly silly behavior and that incident in McGonagall's class, which he couldn't even begin to comprehend.

He was angry, he was sad; but most of all, he was confused. He wished he could simply turn back time to erase this day from history and start it all anew, this time maybe refraining from doing anything stupid. He cursed out loud and moved one hand over his forehead, for as if all those things weren't enough to torture him, he was also suffering from an increasingly painful headache. Given the turmoil of his thoughts, he even suspected some kind of correlation there.

"You don't look well," he heard the voice of Ron speak.

Harry looked up and saw his friend leaning against the wall next to the windowsill, mustering him with plain worry written on his face.

"Thanks," Harry replied, his attempt at a joke failing as his joyless face betrayed him.

Ron mustered a weak smile nonetheless, if only to delay what he needed to talk about with Harry. Since he didn't see much of a choice, he chose the most direct approach.

"Say, Harry," he tentatively began. "Can I ask you a question?"

Harry just looked at him in expectance of whatever was about to follow.

"You won't like it," Ron warned, looking at him apologetically even before he had brought on the intended topic.

Harry looked at him suspiciously, then sighed.

"I guess it fits into the general pattern of the day, then."

Ron apparently took a moment to gather himself before proceeding, inhaling deeply.

"Okay," he reassured himself before facing Harry again. "Just stay with me, here."

Harry blinked at him.

"Okay," Ron repeated. "I'm doing this the fast way."

"I can see that," Harry said.

"Right then, here it goes," Ron announced, then went on to talk very fast. "Do you think that maybe – just maybe – you have been under the influence of an outer source the whole day?"

Harry looked at him without the slightest hint of comprehension showing on his face, which made Ron nod frantically in response.

"I know how you feel right there," he stated enthusiastically. "But this could actually make sense, considering who came up with the idea."

"What do you mean?" Harry asked confusedly. "What are you talking about?"

"Well," Ron was apprehensively approaching the most difficult part. "You see, we have established the theory – and it's really just a theory – that you could possibly be under the influence of some kind of hex or potion that made you act… the way you've been acting today."

"And how have I been acting, exactly?" Harry vocalized pretty much randomly one of the many questions that were thrown around in his mind, first signs of a potentially rising irritation noticeable in his voice.

"Quite normally, actually," Ron replied, nodding his head at first, but then suddenly shaking it instead. "But also… not at all."

Harry raised an eyebrow at him, though that motion only enforced his headache.

"Are you going anywhere with this?" he asked, annoyed by both the pain in his head as well as Ron's cryptic ramblings.

"I'm just saying that maybe you might be under the effect of some kind of magic, which would explain the noticeably unusual events of the day, is all."

With comprehension finally dawning on Harry's features, there was also anger seething behind his eyes, threatening to break out at any second.

"I see," he said through gritted teeth. "My feelings for Hermione are laid out in the open and the first thing that comes to everyone's minds is that I obviously must have been hit by a spell, induced with a love potion or gone plain out insane. And I guess it was Hermione herself who came up with this?"

Ron looked down at his feet and buried his hands in the pockets of his jeans.

"Brilliant," Harry said bitterly, his risen anger subsiding into sadness. "Makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside."

"She's only worried, you know?" Ron tried to reason with his unusually emotional friend. "She just cannot believe that you could really have such feelings for her. And considering the way in which you acted on them all of a sudden, literally from one day to the next, it simply doesn't seem right. It's not just Hermione who thinks so, Harry. I do, too. And so did Neville… and probably everyone who noticed one of your… _scenes _today and knows you even just a little."

He paused shortly, waiting for a reaction by his friend, but Harry sat unmoving at the window, looking outside with his chin resting on his left arm. He didn't say anything, and while Ron was not sure if Harry was simply waiting for him to continue, or wasn't listening to him at all, he felt the need to keep talking.

"It's correct that probably more than half of the school is gossiping about you and Hermione, some more decently so than others. But I think not one of them wouldn't have been surprised… if not at your behavior itself, then certainly at the suddenness in which you brought it on. It just doesn't fit, Harry. Yes, you have said nice things to or about Hermione in general before. You always openly complimented her on her intellectual accomplishments and like to call her brilliant, but saying something about her hair is… quite different. And you never… ever did so until today. So… as perplexed as I was myself when she first revealed her suspicion, one really can't argue its validity. And I think it's unfair to begrudge Hermione her opinion."

Ron awkwardly cleared his throat, uncertain of his friend's reaction at his, as he felt in hindsight, rather bold speech. At first, Harry remained silent for another few seconds and a heavy sigh was the first sound he made.

"It feels real," he said with bitter defiance. "This is ridiculous. I know I love her and I have for a long time. Do you think I'm insane? I know it!"

"But why have you never revealed anything about this, not even hinted at it? For how long has this been going on?"

Harry thought about that for a moment and seemed to get frustrated with himself. He rubbed his forehead again.

"I'm not sure. I can't give you a specific date and time, you know? That's impossible."

Ron's very own suspicion was suddenly growing, and as bad as he felt for Harry, he felt he needed to keep inquiring. That's what he normally didn't do, as Hermione liked to point out.

"You have to remember a general timeframe, though, right?" he asked carefully, trying not to be too offensive.

Harry hesitated again, shaking his head in annoyance and cursing at the pain that caused him in his head.

"I… I don't know, okay? It's been years now. She's always been there. How would I know when exactly my feelings for her changed? They didn't even change, they simply developed. This is crazy! I love Hermione, she doesn't feel the same. No reason to come at me with this conspiracy theory bullshit."

Ron was taken aback by his best friend's unexpected aggression for a moment. This was getting out of hand, but the real problem was that he still couldn't be sure if his and Hermione's suspicions were right. How would he react himself if the situation were the other way around? Wouldn't he get angry, too?

"Won't you at least consider the possibility?" he asked him with a hint of desperation. "You have to see our point, here. Please."

Harry shook his head again, groaning in frustration at the pain in his head and the whole, condemnable situation.

"Just leave me alone," he said angrily and threw himself off the windowsill, rushing past Ron towards his bed. "I'll be fine."

Ron stood there, slowly and noisily letting the air out of his lungs through puffed cheeks. He was sure he had gotten some kind of proof out of this whole exchange, just for what point of the argument he didn't know.

~x~

Harry didn't know for sure how long he had been lying there now, waiting for sleep to come and give him some relief from his constant stream of thoughts. His fellow classmates in their beds around him had fallen asleep quite a while ago, but what was their blessing eluded him. He had already been lying there when the others had come one after another, all of them believing Harry was already asleep and thus trying their best not to make any unnecessary noise. After an uneventful evening had passed, with Harry hardly leaving the dormitory at all, he had tried falling asleep early, but even now after hours of waiting, it simply didn't happen.

He sighed in frustration and decided there was no point in lying around any longer. Somehow, even if one doesn't plan on doing much else, every alternative to lying around in bed, waiting for sleep to come, can seem better – even if it largely consists of sitting around somewhere else. So Harry stood up, slipped into a plain t-shirt and left the dorm without making much noise or turning on any lights, for his eyes were used to the darkness from staring at the ceiling or towards the window for hours long.

He silently closed the door behind him and descended the stairway down into the empty common room, illuminated only by the faint moonlight coming through the windows and the weakest of glows from the burned ashes in the fireplace. Immediately noticing the cold air in the room, Harry looked at the windows and noticed that someone had apparently left one of them open, so he walked over and closed it. Slightly chilled, he was drawn towards the fireplace. He put a few more logs onto the remains of the fire that had burned throughout the evening and prodded the ashes in the fashion of muggles, which he probably wouldn't even have done any differently if he'd had his wand with him.

With the fire growing again and the flames licking around the dry wood, Harry sat down on the comfortable couch in front of the fireplace and gladly took in the warmth that was slowly radiating from the fire. His headache wasn't as bad anymore as it had been earlier, but he did still feel it behind his eyes and forehead. He absentmindedly moved a finger along his scar, though he was sure his headache didn't have anything to do with it. Somehow, the fire had a way of soothing his mind and while he did get lost in his thoughts while gazing into the flames, they were not of the tormenting kind he had suffered the hours before. He still couldn't shake off the sorrow that took hold of him whenever he thought about Hermione, though, and there really wasn't that much else he thought about. But it was a peaceful sadness, which comes from the acceptance of the reason for one's sorrow. It didn't hurt that much. Not here, not now. He closed his eyes, only listening to the cracking of the wood; feeling the warmth spreading through his body and engulfing him like a soft blanket.

When he heard a sound distinctively different from the fire, he wasn't even sure if he'd just imagined it or if he had already slipped into half a dream, but he still opened his eyes and looked into the general direction of the assumed source. Someone was indeed standing on one of the lower steps of the stairs that lead to the girl's dormitories, though Harry was unable to make out who it was, for the fire's light was not strong enough to illuminate that area of the room.

"I'm sorry, I didn't think there would be anyone down here," Harry heard an all too familiar voice say. "I didn't mean to disturb you. I'll just go upstairs again."

And with the person turning on the spot, Harry had to force his senses out of their half asleep state to react fast enough.

"Wait, Hermione," he said, fighting himself out of the pillows he had lain in and sitting up straight. "Please, you have as much right to be here as I do. It's called _common room_ for a reason, you know?"

"Oh… okay," Hermione responded quietly, hesitantly turning around again.

Harry was unsure if he had said something Hermione did or didn't want to hear, and while the last thing he wanted to do was to make her feel uncomfortable yet again, he would have felt utterly stupid if she had just left again when she evidently meant to be here.

"Please, sit down," he said and motioned over the general area around the fireplace with a wave of his hand. There were alternatives to the couch, after all.

Still, when Hermione came over, she chose to sit down on the very couch Harry was sitting on, just a bit nearer to its other end, but instead of one of the armchairs nonetheless. She smiled at him awkwardly, then immediately turned to look into the fire. Harry did likewise and for a few moments they sat there in silence, each of them lost in thought.

"So," Harry finally broke the quiet, trying to sound as casual as possible. "You can't sleep either?"

Hermione threw him a quick glance.

"No," she answered. "It's just… not a good night, I guess."

"It happens," Harry said, again casually.

Hermione nodded in agreement and Harry cleared his throat, with another minute of silence following afterwards, in which a certain decision grew in Harry's mind with increasing impatience.

"I'm sorry, Hermione," he quite suddenly expressed, not taking his eyes off of the fire.

Hermione turned to look at him in surprise.

"For what?" she asked.

"For everything. The whole day," Harry replied, and if there was frustration in his voice, it was solely directed at himself in this moment. "For embarrassing you in front of everybody – twice. For making you uncomfortable. That was not my intention."

He didn't dare to look at her, so he missed her reaction apart from the two seconds it took her to say anything in return.

"I know," she said quietly. "Of course it wasn't."

Another pause ere she spoke again.

"I really have to apologize myself. I should have handled it entirely differently. My reactions were so silly…" she said, seemingly embarrassed of herself.

"See?" Harry said, looking at her with a weak smile. "I'm doing it again."

Hermione smiled likewise and turned towards the fire again, a few silent seconds passing between them once more.

"Ron… told me," Harry then confessed and Hermione knew instantly what he meant, her nervousness increasing in a leap.

"I'm sorry, I don't know what to say," she hastily tried to explain. "I just… I really believed it to be a possible explanation for… everything. And then I started worrying, because it might be something that is harmful to you. So I began researching everything even remotely related to what I think is going on. I didn't mean to… I mean… I only…"

"It's okay," Harry tried to calm her. "Frankly, I got angry at Ron and I think… not quite rightfully so. If there was one solid point to his whole argument, then it surely was the fact that you were the one to come up with the theory. And that's enough reason for me to consider it to be true."

Hermione looked down at her hands, fidgeting around with them in her lap, the fire casting a warm glow on her. Harry looked at her for a moment, thankful that she couldn't see it. Somehow, and quite suddenly so, all his troubles were cast away. He wasn't embarrassed about anything anymore; he wasn't feeling awkward or even unsure. He felt strangely at peace, and there was nothing left to hide behind; nothing to conceal. A fierce determination burned inside him, mirroring the physical fire to his side.

"I don't believe it, though. That much I want you to know," he said in a steady voice, not taking his eyes off of her this time. "I don't want to believe it. My feelings are mine. I feel them. I know them. I cannot accept that they could be… artificial. They feel real to me."

Hermione's head had jerked up at his words, her eyes meeting his. Seeing the determination on his features and the blank honesty and unwavering certainty in his eyes, she started trembling.

"Harry…" she whispered, tears forming in her eyes.

He moved towards her with a swift, yet not sudden motion.

"You've always been there, Hermione. You're the only one. You're the greatest soul and the kindest spirit I have ever known. That's a fact. You are the most caring, the most generous, the most loyal and most courageous being I could ever imagine. That's the truth. You're smart beyond comprehension. You're sweet, you're funny. You are beautiful. How could you ever think that it would take a curse for me to realize that?"

Hermione was shaking all over, her lips were trembling and tears were running down her glowing cheeks. Harry was gazing into her eyes without blinking; lost in the dark, hazel depths behind the flickering reflections of the fire. Harry moved even closer, their legs touching. Silently they gazed into each other's eyes, breathing heavily.

"I love you," Harry said in a low, but unfaltering voice. "I do. I know it. It's not a potion. It's not a spell. It's just me."

He slowly leaned towards her until their lips were merely an inch apart, still looking directly into her eyes. She was moving nearly unnoticeably, leaning into him as if time were passing slower, her trembling lips nearing his, parting ever so slightly. She was close to giving in – so close.

"I'm sorry," she breathed, her voice breaking off and tears freely streaming down her face.

And she abruptly pulled back, rose from the couch and hurried up the stairs, out of Harry's sight, who sat alone in silence, his head sunken and the warmth of the fire far, far away from reaching his broken heart.

~xXx~


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer**: One day, I'm gonna buy Harry Potter and build my own castle and invite everyone who has given me a nice review to join me in Hogwarts. Those who don't give me nice reviews will be invited too, but you guys will definitely be in Slytherin and your dorms will be in the murky dungeons. Mark my words. Until then, however, the whole franchise belongs to J.K. Rowling and I make no money whatsoever with this right here.

**About stuff**: Your comments are better than money could ever be, people. It's crazy in the best possible way for me to see some of you pondering over what I'm up to with this story and I really hope you'll be satisfied once it's all said and done. I feel inclined to explain some things (or quite simply everything) whenever I read your comments (I'm looking at you, TsukiyoTenshi. That's great stuff!), but that would obviously be stupid from a dramaturgical standpoint, so I'll refrain from following this urge until the story is over.

Let me at least say a few words about Ron, since that won't spoil anything: call me self-absorbed, but I really like "my" Ron. I don't like it when he's depicted as a total moron. I like his idiosyncrasies; like his insatiable appetite, his generally good natured attitude or his clumsiness where emotions are concerned. But most importantly, I want him to be able to be serious as well when a situation calls for it. I don't like him as a sole "comedic relief" kind of character. He can have substance, too. He can be a loyal and caring friend and for whatever he might lack in intelligence or empathy, he will always make up for it with his unwavering effort to do the right thing. He will always try, even if Yoda wouldn't think much of that. I certainly not invented this specific incarnation of Ron and have seen him like that in many other fanfictions before I ever wrote one, but it's the version I always liked best and the one I was going for here myself. Let him be the funny guy, but let him also have a bit more than that.

Oh, and before I forget, as a general side note and in response to what 1529 said: I didn't think I would be the first person on planet earth to have this kind of plot bunny, but I can honestly say that I couldn't remember reading a story too similar to this, or else I wouldn't even have written it. Certainly, though, others will have written comparable stories and the only thing I can hope is that I have just enough to offer here to keep things fresh and interesting. I solemnly swear that I did not consciously steal this plot bunny. It was still fluffy when it came hopping along in front of me.

* * *

><p><strong>-IV-<strong>

When Harry awoke on the following morning, after hardly two hours of sleep, he was feeling more miserable than he could remember ever feeling before. He felt beaten, broken and utterly unable to muster even the slightest motivation to leave his bed. He didn't want another day to start; he just wanted to keep lying there indefinitely and for the world to not take any notice of him and his pathetic condition. He wanted to be forgotten – and to forget himself; everything.

Sadly, if not unexpectedly, Ron didn't care much for his plans and did not back down until he finally got him to go to the bathroom to get ready for the day. Harry only gave in, in the course of a rather nihilistic mood taking hold of him. What did it matter, after all? It was all the same to him. He might as well stand up and walk through yet another day of meaningless routines. After following Ron's orders like a zombie for a good thirty minutes, he finally gained some degree of consciousness when they were on their way down towards the Great Hall. With the first thought popping up in his head that had nothing to do with Hermione or his ill fate, he felt the urge to say something to Ron.

"I want to apologize," he said with an abrupt presence of mind that startled Ron for the fraction of a second. "I wronged you yesterday, when you tried to talk some sense into me."

"It's fine," Ron said, shrugging his shoulders. "It really wasn't the best day, was it? And you weren't feeling well, either. So… no hard feelings, right?"

Harry nodded, not surprised but cheered up a bit at his friend's uncomplicated manner of handling such things. He thanked him openly, earning an understanding smile from his friend. There was not much relief for his depressed mind, though, as they had already reached the Great Hall and the first thing that Harry took immediate notice of was Hermione, sitting at her usual spot at their house table, her head buried in a large book in front of her.

When Ron greeted her, she raised her head most briefly and seemed to look anywhere but at the two of them, greeting them with no more than a single syllable. Ron threw a quick glance at Harry, who sat down without saying anything at all. Ron's outlook on the day worsened considerably at the realization that nothing seemed to have improved concerning the overall situation.

Minutes passed without anyone of the three saying a single word. Ron did the only thing he could do and got busy with breakfast. After he had nearly emptied his second plate, he quickly looked at his two friends, who hadn't touched anything remotely edible yet.

"Don't you guys even wanna eat sumthin'?" he asked in his well known eating fashion.

"I'm not hungry," both Hermione and Harry replied in near-unison.

Ron raised an eyebrow at them.

"Right," he said, getting back to business without much hesitation.

It took the building frustration in Harry another few minutes of uncomfortable silence in the midst of all the noise in the hall to finally make him speak.

"I'll comply," he said, barely loud enough for them to hear. "Whatever it is you want to do about whatever it is you think is going on. Just do it and let me know. I'll comply."

Ron's eyes wandered from Harry to Hermione, who had looked up from her book and was watching Harry, who had not raised his eyes from the table. Only now he threw a quick glance to each of them, then stood up and turned to face the doorway.

"Just let me know when you need me," he told them before leaving the Great Hall, feeling his friend's eyes on his back until he vanished from sight.

It was Ron's turn to look at Hermione questioningly.

"Did I miss something?" he asked with narrowed eyes.

Hermione sighed heavily, closing her book and folding her hands on top of its cover.

"We… had a talk last night," she replied, trying hard to keep a steady voice, her sadness betraying her all too plainly.

"A talk?" Ron asked skeptically.

Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Yes, a _talk_," she emphasized annoyed. "But I cannot speak about it."

Ron nodded understandingly, although he was making a playfully offended face while doing so.

"And… what will happen now?" he asked, being fully serious again.

"I will talk to Professor McGonagall," Hermione announced, her voice still subdued. "Tell her about my supposition and ask for her opinion."

"So… I guess you don't need me for anything?"

Hermione smiled at him – weakly so, but sympathetically nonetheless.

"It's okay, thank you," she explained. "It's my crazy theory anyway, remember?"

Ron gave her a telling look, giving her to understand that she shouldn't say such silly things.

"Anyway," she said and rose from the wooden bench. "No reason to lose any more time. The sooner this is all over, the better."

And with that, she grabbed her book and walked away – like Harry, without having eaten anything at all. Ron was left behind to shake his head. At what exactly, he didn't fully know; at his friends, at these strangest of days – the whole, crazy world, maybe. But certainly at all the tasteful food his friend's had just plainly ignored.

~x~

After Hermione had spent the first of her two free hours right after breakfast – History of Magic had been called off today, because Professor Binns had to partake in his annual meeting with the _European Association of Teaching Ghosts_, which currently counted a whole of three members – she immediately headed off to Professor McGonagall's personal study, where she usually spent the breaks between classes. Since Hermione knew that the Professor didn't have any classes during the second hour of Friday's schedule, she was optimistic her head of house would have a few minutes free for her.

Having hurried through the corridors of the castle, Hermione reached McGonagall's study in the lower levels of Gryffindor tower less than four minutes later. She came to an abrupt halt right in front of the heavy, wooden door, took a deep breath and knocked three times, entering right after hearing her Professor's voice answering.

"Miss Granger," McGonagall greeted her with surprise, looking up at her from behind her table and various manuscripts she seemed to be busy with.

"Good morning, Professor," Hermione said politely, with only the slightest hint of anxiety in her voice. "I was hoping to be able to talk to you about something, if I am not disturbing you."

"Oh, it's quite alright. I was just correcting some tests from my second year class," McGonagall replied, putting down her quill and folding her hands in front of her, giving Hermione her undivided attention. "What can I do for you?"

Hermione hesitated for the shortest moment, gathering her confidence. She was sure of her cause, yet the matter remained a delicate one.

"I have come to you because I have reason to believe that Harry is suffering from a yet to be determined outer influence," she recited as if from memory, then added as an afterthought to avoid misunderstandings: "And I don't mean the usual outer influence."

Professor McGonagall turned very serious at her student's words, knowing full well that Hermione was not one to make premature assumptions.

"Please elaborate," she said, looking at the young witch in front of her over her glasses.

"I believe he has unknowingly been either hit by a spell or induced with a potion, with the effect being…" Hermione faltered, unsure of how exactly she should put this. "A considerably changed behavior."

"You will have to be a bit more specific, here, Miss Granger," McGonagall stated. "In what manner has his behavior changed?"

"Well," Hermione slowly answered, still searching for alternative ways to say this in her head, then at last giving it up. "I guess it would be something comparable to a classic love potion, even though I am sure that it is in fact not that specific kind, since he doesn't show the respective symptoms."

"I see," McGonagall just said, then pausing thoughtfully for a second. "May I ask how you came to this conclusion? I do have to, Miss Granger, even if it is you who comes to me with this suspicion."

"He's… showing the usual signs," Hermione replied with noticeable caution. "Those being… sudden affection for a subject he does not normally have that kind of affection for, oddities in his general behavior and – as Ron will be able to confirm – abrupt changes in his mood. He also started complaining about a headache yesterday evening, as I was informed about by Ron."

McGonagall nodded silently, deliberating what Hermione had just revealed to her.

"And who would be the apparent subject of the magic's effect?" the Professor asked, looking at Hermione as the young woman seemed to find great interest in something on the floor beneath her all of a sudden, her face gaining hints of a certain color.

"That, uhm… that would be me," she nearly mumbled, causing Professor McGonagall to raise an eyebrow at her.

"I see," the older woman said again, this time considerably slower than before, though.

After some seconds passed without anyone speaking, Hermione raised her eyes to look at her Professor again, looking very concerned.

"We have to do something. Will you examine him?" she asked, and nearly desperately so. "It might be something dangerous. The headaches aren't a good sign. He still seemed to suffer from them this morning."

McGonagall looked at her most intently for a moment.

"Miss Granger," she began slowly. "Are you absolutely certain about this?"

Hermione nodded once, keeping her eyes locked with her Professors'.

"I know Harry," she said without any sign of doubt in either her voice or her eyes. "Something_ is_ wrong. I'm sure of it."

"And… you do not think it would be possible for Mr. Potter's… condition to be of a natural cause?" McGonagall asked, her face not betraying her thoughts.

"Please, Professor, you have seen it yourself. Just yesterday, in your class."

"Indeed, I have," McGonagall sighed, and to Hermione's bewilderment she looked at her with the strangest expression of sadness and sympathy.

Another few seconds passed in silence, with Hermione looking at her Professor with anxious expectancy.

"Very well," Professor McGonagall finally said. "I presume Mr. Potter knows of your supposition?"

"Yes," Hermione replied very quietly, dropping her eyes again. "And he has agreed to… comply."

"Then let him know that I will be expecting him tonight, at nine o'clock in the infirmary. Madame Pomfrey and I will have a look at him."

Hermione looked up at her head of house, relief clearly visible on her features.

"Thank you, Professor. I am sure you will be able to help him," she said gratefully.

McGonagall just nodded and, after they said their farewells, watched the young witch leave with a pensive expression, before she finally returned to her work.

~x~

Since Ron wanted Harry to be able to conduct today's afternoon practice of Gryffindor's Quidditch team with a mind as free as possible under the circumstances, he had pushed off talking to him about his arranged evening schedule till after they finished. Hermione had talked to him earlier during their Herbology class, while Harry had listened to Neville about something plant-related.

"I know how pathetic this is and I'm sorry I keep pulling you into this, but… I just can't," she had said to him, wiping away her tears before they could even fall, trying hard not to draw any unnecessary attention. "I can't talk to him right now. What am I supposed to tell him? How?"

"It's alright," Ron had tried to calm her down, awkwardly patting her on her back in a rather clumsy attempt to emphasize his intention. "I'll do it. It's no problem."

"Thank you," she had whispered with a weak voice, trying to focus on the plant before her, still fighting the tears. She had looked very exhausted, very vulnerable.

And so here he was, yet again the messenger of the worst news of the day. He really hoped this would all be over soon – and not even for his own sake. At least not exclusively.

"So, uh," he began hesitatingly while getting out of his Quidditch gear, practically praying that this time would work out better than the last time he tried to talk to him about _the issue_. "We have arranged a date for you with two old witches, tonight in the infirmary."

Harry snorted.

"Finally," he said. "I was getting desperate, here."

Ron laughed, much relieved at his friend's playful reaction.

"I just hope you got your contraception spell straight, mate," he added to the jest.

"Of course," Harry joined in. "I use it all the time, as you know. Wait, would I even need that with _old_ witches?"

Ron looked at him with plain disgust showing on his face.

"One step too far, eh?"

Ron nodded, still grimacing.

They shared a good natured laugh and continued to change into their regular clothes in silence. Harry finished first and, with his trusted Firebolt in his right hand, walked towards the exit, where he stood leaning against the doorframe, waiting for his friend to follow; his eyes wandering over the Hogwarts grounds, the castle up on the steep hill and the lake down below in the distance. It started raining, just a moment before Harry heard Ron approach from behind him.

"So, I'll get Hermione removed out of my head, then, just like everybody seems to think it should be," Harry said bitterly.

He heard Ron sigh.

"It's not exactly like that, you know…" he said cautiously.

"Then what's it like, Ron?" Harry challenged.

"I mean… they'll only do anything _if _they find something."

"And what do you think?"

It took Ron a moment to answer, but Harry waited without turning around.

"I, uh…" Ron began to stammer. "I think that… that _something_ might… _could_, possibly… be not quite right with you, to be frank. But it's just an examination, anyway. A precaution. To be sure. Would you prefer it if they didn't take a look at you, while in fact something _is_ wrong with you?"

"It doesn't matter anyway," Harry evaded the question. "Since Hermione doesn't feel the same, I might as well get this over with, so we can all get back to our happy, carefree youth."

"Harry, mate… come on, don't be so bitter," Ron said, and Harry felt his hand on his shoulder. "We don't know what'll happen yet. Maybe they won't find anything, maybe they will. We'll deal with it once we know. I think it's safe to say you won't lose Hermione either way. Seriously."

"Yeah… we'll see," Harry said quietly, then tried to shrug his thoughts off and, in an act of will, raised his voice and tried to sound casual again. "Come on, let's go. You said you wanted to take a shower, didn't you?"

And with that, Harry stepped out into the now pouring rain with outstretched arms, a rather grumpy looking Ron following behind.

~x~

With nine o'clock approaching, Harry had just left the common room heading off to the infirmary, where Professor McGonagall and Madame Pomfrey were expecting him. He hadn't exchanged a single word with Hermione and, in fact, not seen much of her all day, apart from the classes they had shared. After coming back from Quidditch practice with Ron, he had spent the evening in either his dorm or the common room, passing the hours in anticipation of his so called _date_. His headaches seemed to worsen again during the later hours of the day, just as they had done the day before, so when they had returned to Gryffindor tower after supper in the Great Hall, he had retreated from the jovial company of the common room to the deserted, quiet dorm, sitting at his favorite place at the window and trying to get his mind off of things by reading a book, although he ended up looking out and watching the raindrops fall most of the time.

When the time had come to get on his way, he had thrown a fleeting glance at Hermione, whom he immediately noticed sitting on an armchair in a corner, hidden behind a rather enormous book. She had looked up the second he'd passed through the room, though, and their eyes had met for the briefest of moments. Ron had stood up from a game of chess with Neville, who had been looking at the board in front of him quite morosely, and tried to encourage him one last time. Harry had appreciated the gesture, even if it wasn't much of a use. He had, as he felt, given in to fate anyway and no words in the world would make him want or even like to do what he was about to do.

Something deep inside him was actually raging; raging against this acceptance of the unacceptable. He still couldn't believe his feelings weren't actually his own and the only doubts he had came not from inside him, but from the outside and everybody who kept telling him so. Would they be acting like this if he'd announced his love for some other girl all of a sudden, be it who it may? A girl he had never talked to before? Would that be normal? In his opinion, his feelings for Hermione were the most natural thing in his life. Who else would he have them for? There really had been only her – all the time; all these years.

But apparently, that was all crazy talk. No one believed him – worst of all, not even Hermione herself. He just couldn't understand why. It was one thing for her not to feel the same about him, but something entirely different to refute his affection for her altogether and instead chose to presume he was sick or something. He couldn't remember being so hurt ever before, which really was what it all came down to. The only reason why he was on his way to the infirmary right now was that he didn't have anything else left to do. It didn't matter anymore, did it? If even Hermione wanted him to, he might as well do this much for her. If she was right and he was in fact under the influence of a spell or potion that made him feel the way he did, he would be _cured_ from it and maybe not even remember a single thing since whenever it was supposed to have happened. If she was wrong, nothing would change at all. He would have just made a fool out of himself and probably broken his friendship with her, which was irreversible at this point anyway.

All in all, he really didn't know what outcome he was supposed to hope for. As broken as his heart felt, there was still something deep within its core that treasured his love for Hermione as the most important thing he had in his life; something he was utterly unwilling to give up, be it unrequited or not. The thought of losing this feeling altogether, even if it mainly led to sorrow, frightened him greatly, because in its very essence it was still the most beautiful thing he had ever known.

Nevertheless, he followed his path until he finally stood before the entrance to the infirmary. For every uncertainty that was plaguing him, there seemed to be at least one thing he could be sure of: whatever it was that was waiting for him, it had to be truth. And what is something worth, really, if in the end – no matter how much you believed otherwise – it turns out not to be the truth; a mere illusion?

Trying to take comfort in that thought, Harry opened the door and entered.

~x~

Some time later, Hermione was still anxiously waiting for Harry to return, sitting in the corner with a book she was using much less for reading and more as a means of protection; a shield from the outside world. Since pretty much all of her housemates knew better than to disturb a reading Hermione, she was left alone for the most part.

After more than an hour had passed and the common room had emptied considerably, Hermione retreated in the course of a nervous impulse to the upper steps of the stairs to the girl's dormitories, in uneasy anticipation of a potentially awkward moment between her and Harry that had better be avoided. So with Ron expecting Harry downstairs, she sat on the cold stone stairs for another hour, with the clock slowly passing past eleven and only some sixth and seventh graders left in the common room, enjoying the first night of a much welcomed weekend break.

When Harry finally did come back at around half past eleven, Hermione immediately woke from her half sleep at the sound of Ron's voice speaking up.

"There you are!" she heard him exclaim, obviously relieved. "I was beginning to seriously consider checking the infirmary for you."

"No need," Hermione heard Harry reply with a very tired voice. "It just took quite a while to check me for any signs of all kinds of different spells, curses, hexes and potions. You wouldn't believe how much of that stuff exists that has something to do with altering or influencing people's emotions."

"I've actually once seen a book back at the burrow about that stuff and it had far more pages than it should've had," Ron stated, before remembering the real issue at hand. "But damn it, Harry, what about _you_? What's the result?"

Hermione didn't hear Harry answer. He might have sighed, though she couldn't be entirely sure. Her tension grew with every passing second.

"Did they find something? Have they taken care of it?" Ron inquired impatiently.

"Yeah," she most faintly heard Harry confirm. "They found something."

"And?" Ron immediately asked. "What was it?"

It took Harry a moment to answer again and Hermione listened intently, further disturbed by her own heartbeat that was pounding inside her ears.

"Some kind of spell," Harry finally said in a subdued voice. "They had to prepare a remedy, too. The spell was actually not cast all that well, so it didn't fully develop its intended effects. That's also where my headaches came from. And… Hermione was right about this too, since it might have gotten more severe if I had waited much longer. The spell itself isn't harmful in its own right, so… there won't be any aftereffects. I just had to take a potion and it should work its course overnight."

He paused for a moment before speaking again.

"So I guess I'll be… good old me again by tomorrow."

"I'm just happy you'll be alright, mate," Ron said, apparently clapping Harry on the back by the sound of it. "But who the heck would do this? Was there no way of determining the caster?"

"No, I don't know," Harry replied. "And frankly, I don't really care right now. Maybe it was just a bad joke."

"Yeah, standing ovations right there. Damn it," Ron cursed.

Hermione heard some steps and the next time he spoke, Harry's voice came from a slightly increased distance.

"I'll be off to bed now. I can't remember ever feeling so tired right now."

"Of course, mate. Sleep it all off," Ron had agreed, then added with more concern: "But you're alright, right?"

Hermione didn't hear Harry's answer. He might even have said nothing at all, there was no way for her to be sure. She heard them leave the common room, though, so their talk had evidently ended, leaving a trembling Hermione to sit alone in the shadows on the stairs, hopelessly fighting the tears that her heart was bleeding too much for to keep back.

~xXx~

* * *

><p>Author's Note: Seriously, should I have rather categorized this as RomanceDrama? I was always like "Man, I have never written something this light-hearted before!", but now that I'm uploading it here, I'm much more like "Sheesh, how many hearts can break before a comedy stops being funny?". Maybe my problem is that I like drama so much and it's always a good feeling to write it. Like I previously said: comedy isn't even really my genre. Oh, well... you'll see how it all ends soon enough. There are still jokes in there, right? So it's all comedy.


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer**: Do we really have to do this with every single chapter? I mean, it's not like I start out all innocent and law-abiding, with no intention to abuse the intellectual property of someone else, only to get all crazy in a later chapter and start charging my readers for my half-stolen product. Or _do_ I… ?

**About stuff**: So, here comes the final chapter already. And I don't mean that in a "Friday the 13th" kind of fashion. This is literally the end of this little story. Like I said: I kept things simple and refrained from making it more complex, since I really just wanted to write my own, comforting, semi-comedic Hogwarts… romance… thingy. That's probably why I erroneously chose humor as the secondary category, since I simply had such a joy writing it that I didn't think about how much "negativity" there was actually in here. If you knew me, you'd probably know what I mean. Drama, tears and rain do not really affect me in a depressing way, for I always see a certain beauty in sadness. And, in the end, an honest smile that truly comes from one's heart is in my opinion worth all the more the harder one had to struggle to reach it. If it's all sunshine and butterflies all the time, how could you possibly appreciate that peace without having a contrast to compare it to? You have to know darkness in order to really understand what light is – and the other way around.

Okay, enough of that. I changed the category accordingly. There was a nice comment by inVale, however, who stated that a romance/humor story with both romance and humor in spades is apparently a rare thing to behold, so I can only hope that you guys didn't feel mislead once the drama took over a bit.

Personal note in response to 1529's second comment: no worries, no misunderstanding here. You quite simply reminded me of something that I wanted to comment on in general. I forgot to address that in my introduction, since – like I said – I had never any doubt that similar stories have already been told (and told often) and I really wanted to clarify that I didn't just copy and paste, here. I didn't mean to make it sound as if you accused me of anything, for I didn't read that into your comment at all. I'm glad you liked the story so far and if you can still state that even after you _have_ actually read comparable stories before, than that's all the more praising for me, isn't it?

Damn, I really wanted to make this foreword short, because I actually wanted to write an afterword instead. There were some interesting – if somewhat perplexing – comments about Hermione and I wanted to say a few words about her and my interpretation of the character. The toughest part during the writing process really was that I had to refrain from doing what I usually like to do most: really delving into my character's thoughts and emotions. Even if my sister was my only intended reader back then, I still wanted to keep her guessing at least a bit, you know? That's probably part of the reason why some of you understandably misconstrued my intended portrayal of Hermione.

Anyway. For now, I hope you enjoy the ending.

* * *

><p><strong>-V-<strong>

The following morning, Hermione felt as if she hadn't slept at all, although she was sure she'd slipped into a few intermissions of unpleasant dreams over the course of the night; forced into them by pure exhaustion and driven out of them again by surreal, yet nonetheless tormenting images. With the very first sign of daylight she had given up on sleep and gotten up from her bed, watching the autumn sun rise on a remarkably clear sky, before finally deciding to go down to the Great Hall as early as possible, hoping to be able to finish her breakfast before certain other people might arrive – at the same time feeling quite silly for behaving like that.

Sitting there now she was yet once again proud of the house elves' work, delivering food from the moment someone took a seat at one of the house tables within a certain timeframe, although she hoped the elves weren't bereft of their much deserved sleep because of her. With over twenty minutes left before the students usually began to gather in the hall and only three other people there right now, she was confident her plan would actually work out quite nicely.

That was until she felt her heart sinking all of a sudden when she involuntarily took notice of who it was that entered through the great doorway just now, as the second Gryffindor to come to breakfast today. He stopped short when he saw her likewise, then immediately thought better of it and slowly walked towards her, his eyes fixed on the ground all the while. He took his usual place directly opposite from her.

"Good morning," he greeted her in an effort to give a casual impression.

Hermione nodded at him in response, giving what she felt must have been the most obviously artificial smile ever to be put on a face. However, desperately hoping to avoid an uncomfortable silence, she felt the urge to say something in return.

"How are you feeling today?" she chose to ask, her voice shaking nearly unnoticeably.

"Good," Harry replied, maybe just a bit too upbeat. "I'm good."

"Well, that's… _good_ to hear," Hermione said and tried to focus on her food, although so much as looking at it right now only added to the uncomfortable feeling in the pit of her stomach.

"I'm sorry, by the way – yet again," Harry said. "Since you were right and all."

"Yeah, me too," Hermione answered as if to herself, and she was desperately trying to ignore the turmoil that was raging inside her; knowing that she had to get out of there as fast as possible if she were to be successful. "I'm sorry, but I really have to get going. See you later."

And with that, she left the hall in a hurry, leaving Harry to sit alone at Gryffindor table in a crestfallen stupor.

Those were the only words they spoke all day long, which in itself was not surprising, in so far as they spent the whole day apart from each other, which in turn was something neither of them was used to. Harry had to pay a visit to the infirmary again, to be checked by Madame Pomfrey to confirm the successful removal of the spell's effect, which was indeed the case. His headaches had subsided and he was able to feel and think clearly again; a condition that might just have qualified as a curse all by itself. There are indeed some remedies worse than the disease, he thought bitterly.

Hermione, quite instinctively, sought refuge in her usual corner of the library, but to her dismay there surprisingly was an increasing number of students there as well, maybe responsibly learning for upcoming tests. Thus, after a while, she felt the need to retreat yet again. She didn't want to have anyone around her, didn't want to see anyone – and even more so, not be seen herself. Yet there was no way she could go back to Gryffindor tower; not even to her dormitory. She didn't know who else was there and, even worse, where Harry was. Even the slightest risk of running into him or so much as seeing him from across a room was too much for her. She just couldn't take it.

She knew full well she was probably being silly and that in turn felt rather unfamiliar to her, but she simply couldn't help it. She also knew there was no way she would be able to keep this up, but she needed at least as much time as the weekend could give her before getting back into any kind of routine with Harry. Right now in this moment, however, she didn't see how she ever could.

So absorbed in thought she stood there in front of the entrance to the library, that she didn't notice the person standing right in front of her at all.

"Here you are," Ron's voice took her out of her reverie. "I had a hunch."

"Yeah," she just said very weakly, without looking at him.

Ron mustered her for a moment with growing concern.

"I just wanted to check on you," he explained. "See if you're alright and all, 'cause… I don't really know how you are."

With Hermione remaining silent, Ron proceeded: "With the whole situation, I mean. I wasn't sure… how you would react. Frankly, I'm not sure if I fully understand how anyone's feeling these days… at all. With Harry, there was an explanation, but… to be honest, you've been acting a bit weird yourself, if I might say so. I'm just worried is all."

Hermione sighed heavily, staring down the hallway with her eyes fixed on no point in particular.

"You know… how I have a tendency to be right more often than not?" she asked, rather rhetorically. "And how I like to be right? I usually do. Sometimes, I think, even if the respective outcome of me being right is bad for me or bad in general even. I might go down, you know, but at least I'll still have the satisfaction of having predicted it."

She paused for a moment, and Ron thought he saw the saddest, weakest smile he had ever seen on her face.

"I truly think I have never, ever hated it so much," she said most bitterly, her lips trembling under the effort not to weep yet again. "For once, I… or that pathetic, irrational part of me so desperately hoped I would be wrong. I foolishly wished so hard I would be wrong this time that it actually hurt _not_ to be. I tried to stop it; to keep myself from falling into it. But I couldn't. And it hurts _so_ damn much."

At that, she turned to face Ron for the first time and he was instantly aware that he had never seen her like that before; and very much taken aback by that realization.

"So here I am, right again," she concluded, the tears she was only reluctantly accepting flowing from her bloodshot eyes. "I would much rather have been merry than wise."

She turned and walked away as soon as she had said the last word, making it clear to Ron that she did not want to be held back. With a sad sigh, he let her go. Somehow, he had been foolish enough to believe that things would be back to normal today, while in fact, as he had realized just now, _normal _had never seemed so far away.

~x~

Somehow, Hermione's feet had carried her directly to the place where she now stood without her consciously controlling them. Only now, coming to a halt at her favorite spot at the lakeshore, she began to realize just how far she had walked without having the state of mind to be aware of either the distance she was going or the time that was passing. Even as hurriedly as she had walked in an effort to get away from everything behind her as fast as possible – without raising too much of a suspicion – it had at least taken her twenty minutes to get there. Only now as well she took notice of her rapid breathing and the strained muscles in her legs.

Slowly she walked over to the large tree she had so often sat beneath whenever the weather was nice enough to allow it, with nothing but a – preferably good – book to keep her company. For the first time in many weeks, she leaned against its unusually comfortable bark and began to relax a bit, eyes closed; trying to banish every painful thought from her mind and instead to focus on the feeling of her breathing and the sound of the gentle waves of the lake and the leaves above her, lightly swaying in a soft breeze.

She opened her eyes and took in the serene scenery of the calm lake, glistening in the sunlight and reflecting the clear sky above; framed by the slopes of the surrounding hills and trees in every autumn color, from brightest yellow to deepest red. The air was invigoratingly fresh and clear, far enough from being too cold. This was doubtlessly by far the most beautiful day of recent weeks and the irony of it all did not go unnoticed by Hermione.

After a while of letting herself be calmed by nature's bliss, she put her book in her lap, opened it to the site where she had left off earlier and began reading. With slightly less than eighty pages remaining, she was taking comfort in the intention of simply staying here until she had finished _Emma_. Then, at least, she would have a convincing reason to return to the castle.

It is a curious thing how one can be so absorbed by something that one seemingly loses touch with one's surroundings, yet still retain that inexplicable awareness that might just start off as a subtle and rather irrational feeling of something being not quite right, until the doubts are finally proven wrong. Thus, Hermione did eventually give in to the distracting sensation and involuntarily looked up from her book, entirely unsure if it was because she had heard something move in the leaves on the ground, or if she had maybe seen something from the corner of her eye. Be that as it may, her heart seemed to stop short in her suddenly tightening chest.

"Sorry," he immediately said. "I didn't mean to startle you. I just stood here for a moment and… didn't know what to say, I guess."

Hermione was desperately trying to get any kind of order into her thoughts, while at the same time trying to compose herself in general, making sure at least her most essential body functions were still intact. Within a fraction of a second, her serenity had turned into chaos; a phenomenon Harry had probably never before been the cause of prior to these strangest of days. It seemed impossible to concentrate on the situation at hand when she didn't seem to understand anything anymore, all the while growing increasingly annoyed and frustrated with herself. With her searching for words over the course of seconds that felt like minutes to her, it was instead Harry who spoke again, although he did not make that much of a better job at it.

"Maybe I should just leave, if you… if it's not a good time… although, no – I mean, of course I will go if you want me to, but… I can't really… go, just now, you see, since…"

"What are you doing here?" Hermione suddenly blurted out, as if in a reflex that missed its right moment.

Harry seemed abashed and cast his eyes down on the ground.

"I, uh…" he started mumbling, then all of a sudden seemed to think better of it and looked up again, directly at Hermione. In a much more serious and fully determined voice he said: "I need to talk to you."

"Oh," Hermione breathed in response, desperately searching for the slightest clue where this was going. "Okay, sure."

"Right," Harry said, nodding – apparently more to himself.

He made a few tentative steps towards her, reducing the distance between them to no more than a few feet, with Hermione nervously watching him. For all his determination, he still seemed to be quite unsure of himself.

"How did you find me, anyway?" Hermione asked in an attempt to make this whole situation less uncomfortable for both of them, while simultaneously genuinely wondering about that, for she knew this place was not within the range of the marauder's map.

"I… do kind of know you, you know?" Harry stated quite matter-of-factly. "Ron told me you had left the library and Neville saw you leave the castle and Hagrid said you had been heading towards the lake and… that's really all the information I needed. This is your spot."

Hermione looked at him incredulously.

"Well deduced, Potter," she said, making him smile in response – even if a bit unsteadily.

He then took a very deep breath and nervously threw her a quick glance.

"I need you to know something," he said decisively. "It might be selfish, it might be wrong, but I just… I can't keep it for myself. Not after everything that has happened in the last few days. I need you to know, and I'm sure you'll understand why… once I get to the point."

Hermione watched him stride from left to right and back again in front of her, equally intently and anxiously. He was alright, wasn't he? The spell and all its effects on Harry had successfully been removed completely, hadn't they? He couldn't be in any danger anymore. She didn't want to disrupt him, but quite suddenly she was just too worried to remain silent.

"You are okay, aren't you?" she asked hastily. "The spell doesn't have any harmful aftereffects?"

Harry chuckled in spite of the situation and looked at her with what for Hermione was a rather puzzling expression. She in turn looked at him perplexedly.

"I'm sorry," he said, still – to Hermione's chagrin – with a certain amusement on his features. "No, it's all good with my health. I'll live to see another day of having to die to save the world."

Hermione gave him a most deploring look at that and was about to reply something, but Harry made her hold her breath with an apologetic motion of his hand.

"Just kidding," he assured her. "I'll be around."

He turned his head sideways to look over the lake for a moment, his silhouette contrasting against the glistening reflections of the bright sunlight on the waves in Hermione's view. She heard him sigh before he turned around to face her again.

"So, what I need you to know is this," he said. "And please note that I'm sorry – but you were wrong."

Hermione merely blinked in response, confused by this supposed revelation.

"About what?" she asked apprehensively.

"Your very own deduction," Harry rather calculatedly revealed. "What was it again that made you believe I had to be under the influence of some kind of magic in the first place?"

"Well," Hermione carefully answered. "Your… general mode of behavior, I would say."

"My rather bluntly displayed affection for you," Harry complemented outspokenly.

Hermione averted her eyes and gulped ever so slightly.

"You didn't even consider any alternatives," Harry claimed without any hint of doubt. "That was all the proof you needed."

"Harry," Hermione said in a near whisper, still avoiding his eyes. "What is this about?"

He hesitated for a moment, knowing that he was in too deep to retreat by now. He sat down in front of her, their knees almost toughing. There was no way around it and no way back. There were no more games to be played and no more jokes to be made. There was simply truth; truth that needed to be revealed, come what may come. Looking at her now, seeing her so ashamed, so insecure and so vulnerable, there was simply no alternative. It was not a matter of choice, for in this very moment it came as naturally to him as breathing; feeling it as a burning sensation deep within that took hold of his whole being.

"I'm in love with you, Hermione Granger."

Her head jolted up in an instant and she looked at him as if in shock.

"What?" she exclaimed despite herself, then went on stammering. "But I… I thought… I thought you were healed?"

Harry couldn't keep himself from chuckling at that, even if it was short-lived and ended in a long sigh.

"You know what that spell did to me?" he asked her. "To my emotions?"

She just looked at him in confusion, her eyes switching back and forth between his, as if in desperate search for answers.

"Nothing," he said quietly, yet intensely.

She furrowed her eyebrows and opened her mouth in an attempt to say something, yet no sound escaped her slightly shaking lips. Her breathing had quickened considerably again.

"Nothing at all," Harry emphasized. "It didn't change my feelings; it didn't evoke anything that wasn't there before. It just made me act on them, forcing me not to conceal them. It was a revealing charm, not an alteration charm. It was, as I might add, not cast perfectly well, which is why I got a bit messed up in between it all and had those headaches, too. It was hard remembering things and I got confused all the time, until I started to have the very same doubts that all of you seemed to have. I was so sure that these feelings had not come out of nowhere, but at the same time it was hard to be certain… and that made everything even worse. Ah, it was a mess. But, just to be clear, McGonagall did have a great timing with that _desiderium_ charm, because that one would have turned out no different, even if I hadn't been under the influence of that spell. At least that's what I think. Maybe it wouldn't have worked that well, because I was so used to… suppressing my feelings. I don't know. It doesn't really matter, I guess."

Hermione stared at him with a blank expression, making Harry realize how he had just babbled away. He cleared his throat and scratched the back of his head, before his face turned much more serious again in a rather abrupt change.

"I just needed you to know, that's all," he said quietly. "Because I cannot accept that you would think someone couldn't love you, be it me or whoever else. I needed you to know that everything I have said and done during the past few days was true and honest. I meant every word I said to you. I realize this might be selfish… or maybe even a risk not worth taking, since I do not know what impact this will have on our friendship – which I could not live without, frankly – and even if you don't feel the same, I… I still had to do it. Because… I think you deserve to know – and that… you're worth every risk."

Hermione, if one would have asked her, would not have been able to tell if at that moment her mind was working chaotically fast or painfully slow, but not the smallest part of her certainly wanted time to stop for at least a minute either way, for both variants lead to an astounding lack of any productive thought.

"But I... I'm in love with you, too," she said in a manner as if the entire world had seized to make sense, since both of them surely could not feel the same for one another.

"What?" Harry exclaimed in response, not less bewildered than Hermione seemed to be. "But… that night in the common room – you left. I thought you simply didn't…"

"I left because I thought you were only behaving the way you were under the effects of that charm. I just couldn't believe otherwise."

"Really?" Harry seemed to have honest trouble believing what he heard.

"Harry… I've been in love with you for years. I care for nothing in the world more than for you," she said assertively. "And here I was, fearing that could be too obvious…"

Harry shook his head mechanically. "I never thought… I mean, that's actually part of the reason why I never… besides all those other reasons, like people trying to kill me and everyone dear to me, but… I never…"

"Harry?"

"Yes?"

"Could we stop talking for maybe a second?"

Harry gulped and looked rather embarrassed, not quite getting her meaning yet.

"Of course," he said, clearing his throat. "I'm sorry. I'll just shut up and let you…"

And before he could say another syllable, he was cut off in the most disarming, most engaging fashion he could remember ever being cut off in, when all of a sudden his mouth was fiercely shut close by another pair of lips, while it took his very own pair a mere second to recover from the surprise before they set off to eagerly welcome this softest of blessings. Their lips remained shut only for so long, though.

They breathlessly broke their increasingly passionate kiss after what to the both of them surely felt like far too short a time, yet their lungs importunately demanded air. They leaned with their foreheads against one another; their hands gently resting around each other's necks.

"Wow," Harry breathed between his gasps for air.

Hermione smiled sheepishly at him, equally panting.

"There is no charm equal to tenderness of heart," she whispered, her smile not even leaving her face while speaking.

"That's another way to put it," Harry replied jokingly. "That _was_ Jane Austen, though."

Hermione raised an eyebrow at him. "How do you know that, seriously?"

"I began reading it when I saw you were reading it."

Hermione pulled back a bit and looked at him incredulously.

"You're crazy," she said, her unrestrainable smile betraying her attempt at a serious expression.

Harry grinned at her, practically beaming.

"About you," he said.

And at that, Hermione closed the small gap between them with such irresistible force that she threw Harry over to land sprawled on his back in the midst of autumn's leaves, Hermione laying right on top of him and fervently continuing their previous encounter of this most interesting, potentially addicting kind.

**~The End~**

* * *

><p><strong>Afterword:<strong> Well, that's it. See what I meant? No one died, no one cried. All's well that ends well – so comedy it is. Just kidding. But it wasn't too dramatic now, was it?

Anyway, about Hermione: there were some intriguing comments regarding her actions. Let me try to explain how I imagined Hermione to be here.

Hermione might just be the strongest character of the classic trio, but she is also very vulnerable beneath the surface. Her defense mechanisms have become so resilient over time, though, that it really takes quite something to reach that vulnerable core of her. Hermione is intelligent and prefers to approach things rationally over giving in to emotions, which really does not come lightly to her. She might even go so far as to deny her emotions altogether, while at the same time feeling rather silly for it. While her behavior is not faked or artificial and she really is authentically rational, there still roams something different under that surface, which only few – maybe even no one yet – really knows about. For all her intelligence and distance, there is still the heart of a young woman inside her. She is capable of very intense and profound emotions; she simply has gotten used to burying them deep within in order to protect herself from being exposed, hurt and disappointed.

I pretty much despised the way she was portrayed in "Half-Blood Prince". I do not see her falling into such typical patterns of teenage behavior. Yes, there is a girl inside her – she _is_ a girl, for Merlin's sake. But she's not like that. I really imagine her to be far too proud to go after a boy like that or, for that matter, to even give in to her hormones in the first place. She doesn't swoon whenever Robert Pattinson comes along and she wouldn't attempt to kill him with a bunch of birds when he dares to go out with another girl. "My" Hermione deals with these things differently; inwardly and all by herself.

In the setting of my story she has harbored feelings beyond friendship for Harry for quite a while. For her part, her insecurities, her pride and her fear made it impossible for her to ever openly show these feelings. Harry himself added to this by putting on the same act, for his own reasons. I really imagined them here to be two people who so desperately need each other and feel so deeply about each other, yet are kept back from ever giving in to these emotions by all their doubts and fears. The way Harry grew up, I believe it is more than plausible that he would have difficulties in dealing with his emotions as well. Where Hermione presumably experienced at least the love of her parents, Harry has all the reasons to feel utterly unlovable. Add to that his hopelessness regarding his outlook on life in face of his looming destiny and everything else the boy has to deal with; I could never blame him for feeling unworthy of Hermione. Furthermore, he simply wants to protect his friends and keep them as far away from any potential harm as possible. And, last but not least, he just can't imagine Hermione could ever feel about him in that particular way.

Regarding the spell Harry was under; his openly displayed affection for Hermione was really only her final (if ultimately incorrect) clue, not the initial one. His behavior alone gave reason enough for her to suspect that something was wrong. She has known Harry for many years and – as I imagine – knows him better than anyone else, even if the two them kept arguably the most important thing from each other. If something is indeed wrong with Harry, Hermione will be the first to note. And that is exactly what happened here. The way he behaved particularly towards her was really just the final piece of evidence that lead to her conviction.

From there on, she simply couldn't shrug off her theory. When Hermione's mind is set on something, there really isn't much room for change; her plain concern for Harry's wellbeing only adding to that determination.

Frankly, when I wrote this story I really began thinking about this whole theme on a much bigger scale. I believe it's very likely that there would indeed be many, many kinds of magic revolving around altering, influencing, creating and changing people's emotions and that got me thinking: "How could you ever be sure that someone is completely free of such influences? How could you know that your emotions are really your own at all times? How could you not go totally paranoid over this?"

The wizarding world can indeed be a very daunting place, if you choose to give it this more serious twist (which I personally like very much). Us muggles will be facing such problems in the not too distant future ourselves, the more we understand the human brain. We can look forward to a multitude of different ways of directly manipulating what people feel and think – even more so than we presently already have. The concept of trust becomes that much more complex in such a world. It's one thing to have a hard time trusting someone else, but what if trusting yourself becomes difficult as well?

And that's pretty much the side of the whole theme that Harry represents, because even though his feelings were his own all throughout, he began to doubt them – because there was actual reason to do so. Because he _could _be wrong; they _could_ be artificial. There was no way of being certain until he got tested. And why did he ultimately do it (besides the important reason that is described in the story)? Because he trusted Hermione more than himself.

That is, by the way, really what I like about this whole mess. Even while they are both in denial, they still show so plainly the very thing they deny: their love for each other. Hermione's primary motivation to act the way she does is her concern for his wellbeing and Harry really complies because he just can't ignore her. He knows her just as good as she knows him and when Hermione has a theory – whatever it may be – there is a good chance there is something to it.

The final theme is, of course, the value of truth. That's what it's all about. Amor Veritatis – a very important principle for me personally, by the way. Once the first sting of doubt hits your thoughts, it's like poison in your veins and it won't let you go and the pursuit of truth will be the only way to get rid of it again. I probably understand true love, as corny as it may sound, as love that has truth in its very core and thus, is above doubt. Not in so far as there will never be any doubts, mind you, but rather in so far as it will prevail over them all.

Anyway, I didn't plan on making the afterword longer than the actual chapter, so I guess I'll leave it at that. I just wanted to try to clear things up a bit, for I do not know how well defined they truly are within the story itself for a reader who has no way of knowing what kind of background I imagined for this setting. The funny thing is that I imagined Harry und Hermione to have been pretty much like at the beginning of McGonagall's class in my story for all those years, very natural and intimate – just held back by that one last barrier –, but my story revolves around these few days in their lives where the circumstances make it impossible for them to keep that up. That's why they might seem more distant than they actually are, for neither of them really knows how to handle the situation.

Oh, I nearly forgot! The whole underlying plot that's pretty much my story's MacGuffin: the ominous spell. While I certainly didn't pull a Hitchcock here and decided to keep the whole thing in the background for various reasons, I still believe the hints are all in there. Some of you already had the right ideas. But since this story was not supposed to be about crime and punishment, I didn't want it to overtake the plot. The story is, quite simply, one of the many fanfictional ways of Harry and Hermione realizing what they have in each other and I really wanted to emphasize that in the final scene, for they couldn't care less about "Whodunit". No dark magic was involved; no prosecution will necessarily have to take place. There will only be one disillusioned fangirl more in Hogwarts…

Okay, that's it. I'll shut up now. How much can a guy analyze his own story? Feel free to discuss my narcissistic tendencies in the comments and if you have any questions left, just ask.

So, one last time: hope you enjoyed it for what it is. Thank you very much for reading and every single review. I am officially out of finished or even presentable fanfiction now.


End file.
